A Crap Load of Suck
by Everlasting Faerie Light
Summary: Life sucks for Lovina Vargas. Not only has she realized that she has feelings for "that idiota" Antonio, but on top of that, Mr. Oblivious Tomato-head is now dating her younger, prettier sister Feliciana Vargas. Oh, the woes of being a grouchy, high-tempered, tsundere Southern Italian. SpainXfem!Romano, SpainXfem!N.Italy, PrussiaXfem!Romano.
1. The Crappiness Ensues

(Alright, so this is my Spain X fem!Romano story. It was previously called "Caught In A Shit Storm," but I changed the title due to it violating FF's guidelines. However, I have not changed the title on Deviant Art.)

Breathe in and breathe out. The air is fresh. Warm. Comforting. You feel the sunlight beat against your bare skin as it floods through that huge ass window. Your legs are tangled in a torrent of bed sheets and you feel the soft pillow against the side of your head. Your eyes are closed. You're awake, but you don't want to open them. You're too comfortable.

You feel a pair of strong arms around you. Your bare body is pressed up against another, toned, sculpted, perfect. Fits you like a puzzle piece. You breathe in his scent. The faint smell of fresh tomatoes soothes you and a smile finds its way onto your lips. You love this. This is where you belong. Here. In bed. In his arms.

Last night was fucking fantastic. There was no words to describe it. All passion. All love. All lust. The kisses. The touches. The erotic thickness of the air. And now you're here. On this summer morning. You feel his heart beat steadily as he breathes in and out. He's still asleep. You bite your bottom lip out of joy and snuggle closer to him.

Nothing can go wrong. Nothing can…nothing…

Then it all stops. Because it hits you. Like a fucking train. You lose your breath and your eyes shoot open. The first thing you see is his perfect tan neck. You want to scoot in closer and kiss the skin…but no.

What the fuck have you done?

You screech and squirm in his arms. Your heart pounds in panic as your mind starts to whirl uncontrollably.

He stirs, and then wakes up. His emerald green eyes meet yours, and realization clouds his face. He becomes pale as he quickly unwinds his arms, and sits up.

He's so beautiful. So so so beautiful.

But you can't believe the atrocity you had just committed.

You furiously grab a handful of sheets and cover your exposed body with them. Your face immediately flushes a furious red and you're filled with shame, with regret.

"Fuck!" You scream out in anger.

Alright. So you're probably confused. Want me to explain? Well, that will take an awfully long time. But I suppose I can give it a shot.

My name is Lovina Vargas. I am the personification of South Italy. And whoop-dee-fucking-doo.

I slept with the fucking tomato bastard, who also happens to be my younger sister's boyfriend, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo...or as most would call him, Spain.

Yeah.

Si.

Spectacular.

_Manifico._

_Favoloso!_

Okay, let's start from the very beginning shall we? Oh trust me, this is pretty good. You won't want to miss this.

XX

So let's back up. Hmm…let's say, around three months earlier. Yeah, that's about right. May, I believe. Well, more like the end of May. Summer was just around the corner and the sun was definitely showing it.

Okay, look. I don't mind the sun. I really don't. In fact, I think it's pretty damn nice. But when it beats down on your fucking head all day, it can give you an eye twitch. Especially when you're out in the fields picking some tomatoes with none other than the infamous tomato bastard himself.

Hey, on the bright side, it gives me an excuse to eat the extremely delicious fruit. When the _idiota_ isn't looking, I take huge bites out of the tomatoes that I pick, especially if they're extremely red and big. They're just so delicious! I can't help it. If something looks that appetizing, they're meant to be eaten on the spot. I'm not taking all this bullshit about properly cleaning or cutting or whatever the crapola Antonio spews out of his always smiling lips. Even as a little kid (and I was fucking cute, dammit!), I always snuck outside when the bastard wasn't looking and picked and devoured as many tomatoes as I could.

So there I was, lying on my back against the dirt, under the beating sun. I knew that my cheeks were red as hell, and that when I got up later, my dark hair would be a tangled mess of leaves and soil and maybe even some creepy crawlers, but who the fuck cares? I sure as hell don't. Especially when I'm eating this delicious tomato. Damn, this tastes so good! I could literally make out with this thing. Hmm…how erotic. Making out with a tomato. Is it possible to get an orgasm from a tomato? Pfft…how can you not? Tomatoes are the sexiest fruit ever!

Hey, don't look at me like that you bastard! I'm just stating some simple facts here.

"Lovi, I told you not to eat the tomatoes. They're not clean, and you could get sick!"

I winced at the Spaniard's voice. Of course HE would be the one to ruin my mental tomato sex. Although, Antonio's voice is (EXTREMELY) sexy. I used to beat myself up for even thinking that, but now I see no use in it. Just because I find his voice sexy doesn't mean I actually have feelings for the damn bastard. It's just a general opinion. So yes, Antonio Carriedo's voice is sexy. Maybe it's the accent, or the pitch, or…something.

Nevertheless, I was still annoyed. For me, being annoyed and being downright pissed off are intertwined. One and the same. So you'll never find me just plainly annoyed, without some real anger there.

"Shut it, _bastardo_," I growled at him as I took another wonderfully delicious bite of the tomato. The juice soaked my lips and ran down the sides of my face.

"I'm just telling you, _mi tomate_. May I remind you of the time you became extremely ill from eating an unclean tomato?" he asked.

Why can't he just shut up? I gritted my teeth, my tomato eating experience completely demolished. So I sat up, and glared at him, praying to the Almighty Jesus Christ that the fiery furnaces of hell would engulf the stupid tomato-head.

He looked back at me, a carefree smile on his face. His dark locks were tousled and messy, sticking up in extremely odd directions. His big emerald green eyes twinkled at me, glinting under the golden glow of the sun. Seriously…his green eyes are always twinkling. For as long as I could remember. I mean, come on! How is that even possible?

I accidentally break a vase (okay, not accidentally) when cleaning, and I expect some sort of harsh cruel punishment from the boss. His eyes are twinkling.

I hit and punch him repeatedly out of anger and frustration, simply because he makes a remark about how cute I look when my face becomes red. His eyes are twinkling.

I go to a bar, get drunk off my ass, and start moping to the bastard about how much I hate him, and how my life sucks, and how everyone loves my younger sister more than me because she's so much more talented than I am at everything. Even as I throw up all over his shirt, HIS EYES ARE TWINKLING.

What the fuck? If someone threw up on MY shirt, I'd sock them in the face. Drunk or not. That's just not okay.

Antonio reaches up a hand and wipes some of the perspiration off his forehead and upper lip. I notice that he smudges some dirt all over his nose as he does this. I smirk and laugh to myself. Bahahahaha, he looks so stupid. With his dirty and sweaty face, stupid messy hair, and…and…tan sculpted arms…and toned abs that glint in the sun…and…

VAFFANCULO! WHAT THE FUCK!

NO! NO! NO!

LOVINA! WHAT THE CRAPOLA WAS THAT?

I quickly shake my head to clear any more unwelcome thoughts about the tomato eating son-of-a-bitch. It's sort of freaking me out to be honest. It's been happening a lot lately. Ever since the New Years' party that Francis hosted, ever since I saw him move on the dance floor with various partners (Spanish dancing is fucking sexy. Seriously, people. Look it up on youtube!), ever since I saw the lights flash across his fac, and frame his constantly flickering silhouette, ever since he grabbed my hand, looked me in the eyes with those big twinkling emeralds of his, smirked at me, and twirled my body….

Well yeah. It was a good night.

But it sort of changed…no…SKEWED my perspective of things.

It made me realize that Antonio Carriedo is an extremely attractive man. I mean, I always acknowledged the fact that he was attractive before, but…not like this. I mean, what I saw on that dance floor was freaking nose-bleed worthy!

Yes. I stab myself inwardly for admitting that.

Ever since then, I've been constantly struggling with my thought process involving the tomato bastard. I mean, come on!

I may be older now, but this is Spain! SPAIN!

He's the one who raised me! Fed me! Let me cuddle with him when I got scared! Dealt with my very unattractive kid breakdowns! Comforted me when my first boyfriend dumped me! Always cleaned up after me when I got drunk off my ass! Punished me for even getting drunk in the first place!

Point is…he's the tomato bastard, and I'm his…henchman. Yes. I hate to say it, but it's sort of true. He likes to refer to himself as "the boss." I just throw my drink in his face when he tries to enforce that idea.

When he's not around, I can usually control it. But when he's in the room, that's a whole different story. I literally have a plethora of epic fantastical wars occurring in my brain. Like those big battles in _Lord of the Rings._ With all the orcs and uruk-hai and elves and dwarves and nazgul and shit. New Zealand forced me to watch all three of them with her a few years ago. I will never admit it to her, but I loved them.

Alright. Back to the present.

Antonio laughed. His laugh sounded so sweet, so melodious, so…so…Oh shit. Look at that! LOOK AT THAT! There I go again.

"Aww, Lovi! Your face looks like a tomat…"

"_Si, si_! A tomato! _Madre di Christo!_ You're so fucking predictable!" I spat at him, finding that my limbs were trembling. See, whenever I get frustrated, or "annoyed," my limbs tremble. I can't control it. It just happens.

He just kept smiling at me. Damn those twinkling green eyes.

And why can't he just wear a damn shirt? It's not that hard!

I don't need to be looking at his glistening, tan, sculpted, Spanish glory….I mean…monstrosity.

Sigh. I'm not even going to attempt to fix that statement.

He smirked slightly at me. "My Lovi knows me to well, _si_? That makes me really happy."

I sprang to my feet and marched over to him. I don't know why I got this sudden urge to smack him, but I did, so I decided to act on it. Simple as that. Plus, these urges are pretty common. Which is kind of sad because that means the bastard knows how to deflect them.

I attempted to clock him in the face, but he easily rose a hand and grabbed my wrist. How the hell does he do that? AND he has a basket of tomatoes in his other arm. The corner of his lips turned up and I found myself mesmerized by that slight movement.

"I always taught you violence is not the answer, _mi tomate," _he said softly. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Why must his voice be so fucking sexy? Why? WHY?

And why do beads of sweat actually look extremely attractive on him? Like, glittering jewels. (No, not that sparkly disco-ball vampire shit.)

Seriously! It's sweat! Sweat's supposed to be gross!

The way strands of his dark hair were plastered against his forehead, or how there was a few dirt smudges on his bare skin, or how his eyes constantly GLITTERED.

GLITTER. GLITTER. FUCKING GLITTER!

I scoffed and ripped my hand away from his grasp, hoping he wouldn't notice how flustered I truly was. I knew that I was extremely red again, but Antonio was an oblivious man. Insanely oblivious.

"Whatever," I mumbled darkly, looking down at my feet.

I spotted three huge baskets of tomatoes at his feet. I eyed them, subconsciously hoping that we'd make pasta tonight. Or pizza.

"How many tomatoes have you gotten, Lovi?" Antonio asked, that smile still present on his lips. I turned around to glance at my…um…rather vacant basket. I did pick a lot of tomatoes, they just…sort of made it to my mouth before they could actually reach the basket. Hey! We went over this, bitch! Stop judging!

He gave a small laugh. "I shouldn't have even asked. It doesn't matter, though. I picked more than enough. Can you help me carry these back to the house?"

I looked back up into his face and scowled. "You picked them, bastard. So you take them."

Antonio pouted. Shit. I could never resist his pouts. I always pretended like I could, but I never truly could. Not even when I was a kid. "Why are you so mean to me, _mi poco tomate?"_

Don't look into the eyes. Don't look into the eyes. Don't look…DON'T LOOK INTO THE FUCKING EYES.

Shit. I looked.

I gritted my teeth, bent over, and picked up a basket of tomatoes. I glared at him, hoping that he would physically burn under my torrential demonic stare of doom, but he just beamed at me. Is it just me, or did the sun seem to brighten dramatically?

"I win!" he stated teasingly, ruffling my already messy hair.

"Bastard," I spat.

XX

"Lovi, can you hand me the kni…no. no. no. I said hand it to me. Not throw it," Antonio insisted. I reluctantly handed him the knife. Dammit, I wanted to practice my knife throwing skills! I bet I'm better than Natalia.

Shit. Don't ever tell her I thought that. She'd throttle me in my sleep.

I watched shamelessly as he continued to chop the tomatoes into small pieces. I noticed that a small crease appeared between his brows, and that his glittering emerald eyes were intent with concentration. Antonio wasn't one who cared for extreme precision, but he loved cutting the tomatoes in evenly shaped pieces. Which is why he never let me cut them because I just sort of chomp down on them, which results in uneven, ripped tomatoes with bite marks, as well as a copious amount of tomato juice all over the floor.

Then, he looked over at me. He smiled, and my stomach fluttered. Yes. My stomach fluttered. FLUTTERED. That's the cheesiest thing I've ever let myself think. Actually, no. That's a lie. A huge lie. I've come up with cheesier thoughts.

"What are you staring at?" he asked.

My face flushed. I felt the room around me grow hot as I snapped my eyes away from the bastard.

"N-Nothing. Mind your own fucking business!" I growled oh-so-eloquently. And when I say eloquently, I mean it! Okay, not really.

Then the bastard had the nerve to extend a finger and poke me on the cheek. "You look like a tomato again, Lovi!" he sing-songed. I cringed.

"Whatever," I snapped.

Then it was silent. It was a strange silence. Like…almost an awkward silence. I frowned. There's never an awkward silence between me and Antonio. Why was it happening now? I fidgeted uncomfortably and stared at him. He was frowning as well, his movements a lot less graceful as he continued to cut the tomatoes.

Okay. Weird. This is…weird. I don't think I like this very much. Antonio was giving off the impression that he wanted to say something. Something important. Something that he was reluctant to tell me. I crinkled my brows and bit my lip. This was pissing me off. I could say that it was annoying me, but as we all now know, I don't get "annoyed."

"What the fuck is it, tomato bastard?" I growled, crossing my arms, and tapping my foot impatiently against the floor.

He sighed and gave me another small crooked smile. "I was right. You do know me to well, Lovi."

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the sound of his sexy voice. Dammit. Stupid orgasmic voice. But I don't like him! I swear! Just because his voice is extremely sexy does NOT mean that I like him! Because I don't! I just find him extremely attractive!

"Alright, I wanted to tell you something…well…more like ask you something," he said, his voice edging on nervousness. I noticed that he actually fidgeted his fingers. Yes. He fidgeted. And it was…adorable. Fuck. I can't believe I actually allowed myself to think that.

I grabbed the large cup of tomato juice that sat on the counter by my side and took a large gulp. The taste calmed my unexplained nerves. Why was I so nervous about hearing what he has to say?

"Well, spit it out," I growled, running one of my hands through my extremely messy (and tangled) curly hair. I was careful to avoid the long flyaway curl that stuck out near the top of my head. I don't think it would be appropriate for me to start moaning in the middle of this conversation, thank you very much.

Antonio set down his knife and turned to face me completely. He was avoiding my eyes. He bit his bottom lip in a way that was so NOT enticing; he reached up a hand to nervously scratch the back of his head.

Wait a goddamn second. Holy shit. HOLY SHIT! Was he blushing? _Gesu Cristo! _Antonio Carriedo was blushing! I never see him blush! Ever! He never gets nervous enough to blush. This is a freaking Kodak moment! If only Elizaveta were here…

And why was I brimming with anticipation? Why was my heart beating so fast? Why did my stomach feel like it was performing some serious acrobatics? Why did my palms start to sweat? Why did I grit my teeth? Why did I feel excited? What was I expecting?

Maybe I'm just a fucking idiot.

I don't know.

I had somehow fooled myself into thinking that Antonio was going to profess his undying love to me. Yeah, I know.

Wait! It gets even better!

The scene sort of played out in my head. He'd sweep me off my feet, tell me how fucking beautiful I was, then he'd kiss passionately before carrying me up to his bedroom where we would have hot kinky sex that somehow involved Spanish dancing, thick ropes, and tomatoes.

Oh, _si, per favore! _

Wait a minute. WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE! DID I JUST THINK THAT?

I don't like him! Mental slap. Bad Lovina! BAD LOVINA!

If he professed his undying love to me, I would…um…I would…sock him in the face! Yeah! That's what I'd do!

So I waited. Watched as he fidgeted, and squirmed, and blushed under my expectant glare.

"Well, I wanted to ask you…"

Yes? Keep going, bastard.

"if...um…"

I don't have all fucking day.

"It it would be alright for me…"

_Mio Dio, _he's actually going to do it! Okay, take a deep breath Lovina…

"…to ask Feliciana out."

Dead silence.

Numbing silence.

I couldn't process anything. The heat was gone. The excitement was gone. It was all cold. Icy…

And I saw those enticing glittering green eyes twinkling at me, as he bit his lip in anticipation.

Waiting for my answer. Waiting for ME to give MY approval for him to date my perfect, insanely gorgeous, idiotic sister.

That's what did it.

It all came crashing down. I felt a surging hungry fire of rage consume me. It burned through every crevice of my body. It licked and snarled. It snaked down my fingertips, and legs, and skin, and organs, and…everything.

And then it was all a blur. Standing before me was Antonio, his shocked face covered in tomato juice, and my knuckles going white from gripping the cup to hard.

When did I grab this cup again?

It didn't matter.

Everything was swirling. Hot. Devastation. I felt sick. Absolutely sick.

There was a violent barbaric sound, and with a shocking realization, I realized that I had emitted the noise, before I hurled the cup right at Antonio. The Spaniard ducked just in time, and the cup smashed clean through the window. The breaking of the glass seemed to wrench me out of this whirlwind of rage.

But I didn't want the fucking bastard to see that I was going to start crying.

So I turned on my heel, and booked it, running for the stairs, climbing them up three at a time.

It's always Feliciana. Everyone chooses her over me. She's so much better than me at everything.

I just thought that maybe…just maybe…

But no. I guess that's not the case.

Oh! And what a fucking great discovery! A divine revelation one might call it! So great that it could be give the Bible a run for its money!

I just found out that I am in love with Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Right as I found out that he's crushing on my younger sister. Great timing, eh?

Goddamit. Now I sound like Matthew. The world sucks.


	2. The Crappiness Escalates

Have you ever had that urge to just scream? I'm not talking about the shrill, annoying-as-fuck screams that are commonly emitted by those crazy, cosplaying fan-girls who swoon at the sight of "yaoi" or whatever the fuck it's called. Seriously, Japan. You may act all calm and crap, but we all know that in reality, you're kinky as shit.

No, I'm talking about those barbaric, mutated "I'm going to rip your guts out and eat your entrails" kind of screams. And I'm referring to the whole shebang. Growling, and chanting, and running around with a huge pickaxe. Okay, not really, but you get the idea.

So yeah, that's how I feel right now. I am literally doused with fiery hatred for the fucking tomato bastard, and my oh-so-perfect, talented, annoying-as-fuck sister. But then again, I should've seen this coming. I mean, I hate to admit it, but let's look at the facts here.

Who's richer, with all that pretty architecture, and renaissance shit? Feliciana.

Who did Grandpa Rome favor because of her ability to paint and sculpt a censored cock better than anyone? Feliciana.

Who takes part in the world conferences because everyone forgets that she happens to have an OLDER sister? Feliciana.

Who is as sweet as honey, with just the right amount of willpower and cuteness to attract every single living being, male or female? Feliciana.

Who can cook the best pasta in the world? Feliciana.

Who is commonly referred to as Italy, and the ONLY Italy? Feliciana.

Feliciana.

North Italy.

Veneziana.

Bull…SHIT.

I am so sick of this. I don't know what the Dear Lord God, Almighty was thinking, but he obviously thought that bestowing all of these awe-inspiring, vocational gifts upon my younger sister was the best thing to do.

So where does that leave me?

In the dust.

I'm that bitchy, grouchy, lazy, moody-as-hell Italy-Romana.

Oh, THAT one.

That's her? Italy's sister? No way!

Si, si. She's so lazy, and rude. And she can't cook or draw like her sister.

Yeah. And she's nowhere near as pretty.

I don't believe it! Italy-Veneziana is so cute and adorable! How the hell did her sister turn out like this?

Who knows? I've only heard her talk a few times, and that was because she was screaming at that poor Antonio. She's got the mouth of a sailor!

Really? How disgusting!

Hahahaha. Yeah, yeah. Excellent. I get it. In fact, I got the message a fucking long time ago.

My sister kicks ass, and I eat shit.

Yup, simple as that.

That message has been shoved in my face since the damn 500's, or whenever the hell I started existing.

Hey…at least I got bigger boobs than she does. Hehehehe.

I gritted my teeth, feeling my whole body shake with rage and devastation. I didn't dare open my mouth in fear that a sob, a frightening growl, or a stream of loud profanities would escape. Instead, I breathed in through my nose, letting the tears spill from my eyes.

It just hurt. It hurt so fucking much that Antonio fell under my sister's spell as well. I mean, come on! What has she got to offer him? What has she ever done for him?

Sure, I may have been a huge bitch to the bastard, but I was still there for him. I'm the one who saw him come home from wars, bloody and wounded as shit. I'm the one who'd cry about it, and even sometimes bandage his wounds (if I was in a good mood). I'm the one who had to endure his drunken rants after his big breakup with his old girlfriend Bella, or as most people would call her, Belgium. I'm the one who CONTINUES to comfort him during his pain-in-the-ass economic crisis.

Doesn't that spell true love right there?

I crossed the room, approaching the full-body mirror that lay propped against the crimson colored wall. I stared at my reflection.

My long curly brown hair was tangled and frizzy from the heat and humidity, resembling a dead squirrel. My tanned arms and legs were marked with calluses and unattractive freckles. My face was smeared with dirt, and my big hazel colored eyes looked cold and harsh under my permanently creased brow line.

In general, I just looked like a fucking angry person. And nothing I had could compare to Feliciana's perfect copper-brown locks, flawless light skin, swirling wide amber eyes, adorable smile, and constant vigor.

Dammit, I need to smoke.

I marched angrily over to my (unbearably messy) bed, and heaved large piles of dirty clothing off of the rumpled bedspread. Well, technically, it's not really my bed. This used to be my room when I was little, but then I moved out in the 1800's when both my sister and I were reunited. But I do come here often, and stay for long periods of time. So Antonio decided to leave this room specifically for me.

So sweet, si?

Yup. Fucking swoon-worthy.

After tossing item after item over my shoulders (Where the hell did I get that box of condoms again? I'm not even sexually active), I found my pack of cigarettes and lighter.

Antonio hates it when I smoke. Which is damn hypocritical of him because he smokes just as much as I do, regardless of the fact that his country released a "smoking" ban in 2011. Yeah, yeah. Bullshit.

I stuck the end of the cigarette in my mouth, and lit it. I took a drag, and then breathed out slowly, the smoke swirling around my head in a gentle, ghostly haze. I collapsed backwards on the bed, and continued to take drags, watching as the smoke floated above me.

I started to calm down a bit. Smoking does this to me. It's like fucking therapy. Light one, stick it in your mouth (yeah, I was thinking it too), and breathe. Almost like yoga.

In and out.

So this is when the hopeless pep talk starts.

And this is how it goes.

Lovina, you are a sexy beast! And if someone insults you, that's because they just got Francis's STD-infested cock shoved down their throats. Psshh, who needs the tomato bastard? He's a stupid idiota, remember? And both he and your stupid not-as-big-boobed sister can go and kiss your adorable and precious ass. Because your ass is fine. And tan. And almost as luscious as Antonio's.

Wait…did I just think that?

Hopeless pep talk status: Annihilated.

My inner yin-yang was disrupted by a knock on my door.

"Lovi? I know you're in there. Can you please open the door?" Antonio's voice came drifting through the cracks underneath the door like molten honey.

Well, fuck him. Fuck him and his sexy, cautious voice.

I took another drag, not making any movement to move my ass off of the bed. Blow out. Watch the smoke swirl gently around your head. Yes, good Lovi. Remember. Yin-yang! Find your happy place. Maybe all that Asian Zen shit can come in handy.

Another knock on the door. Harder this time.

"Por favore, Lovi? I need to talk to you," he pleaded. I could tell that he was pouting. I could never resist his pouts, even when I couldn't see them. Just thinking about his face broke my resolve.

I grinded my teeth, my eyes trained on the ceiling. I put the cigarette back into my mouth and breathed in.

I heard him sigh. Maybe he was leaving. Madre di Cristo, please make him go away.

"Fine. If you want to be this way, then I will make sure that your spaghetti is devoid of tomato sauce," he stated.

I blanched. I choked as I inhaled the smoke from the cigarette and started to cough. My eyes started to water as I cursed the damn bastard over and over again.

How dare he threaten to deny me my tomatoes! You NEVER deny Lovina Vargas of her tomatoes. Bad shit will go down. If anyone…and I mean ANYONE attempts to stop me from eating tomatoes, they will find themselves disoriented, and chained upside down by their feet in the basement of Russia's house. And their ass will hurt like hell because they just got ass-raped by Russia, himself.

I'm not kidding you. You don't mess with the Italian mafia.

…Alright, fine. The only person who can get away with denying me of my tomatoes is Antonio…BUT that's only because he's the one who provides me with them! So really, I have to choice but to listen to him. And you don't understand how much that tears up my dignity. But…I have to do it. Anything for the tomatoes.

A stream of curse words rolled off of my lips as I forced myself to sit up, my head whirling slightly at the sudden movement. I stuck the end of the cigarette in my mouth, before marching to the door, making sure that I looked pissed as hell.

The smoke trailed behind me, and then settled into a hovering haze around my head as I opened the door to reveal the orgasm-inducing – I-I mean the tomato-fucking bastard, Antonio. Spain, country of passion (and sexiness).

Ahem. Anyways.

He frowned at the sight of me, his emerald green eyes flashing. "Lovi, you know I don't like it when you smoke."

I glared at him stonily, before reaching up to grab the cigarette with my two fingers, breathing in, removing it, and then blowing out all the smoke…right into his pretty face. A flicker of annoyance flashed over his face, and I couldn't help but smirk.

I am NOT going to hear him lecture me about smoking.

"Do you think I really give a fuck, tomato bastard?" I spat at him.

Antonio sighed, and walked past me, into the room. His frown deepened as he looked at the state of my bed. I continued to glare at him, challenging him to lecture me about cleanliness.

But instead, a smile broke out on his face as he laughed. "Mi tomate is the same isn't she? Always leaving things lying around like this."

I continued to glare at him, trying not to focus on the fact that his sculpted tan arms looked extremely enticing right now…or the fact that I could see his toned abs underneath that white shirt he was wearing.

And then I was suddenly hit with a pang of devastation, as I realized that I could never have any of that, because he likes Feliciana.

"What the hell do you want?" I snapped, realizing that the cigarette was nearly done for.

Antonio sighed once again, and his smile slipped off of his face. He looked nervous as he stared down at his feet in a totally-not-adorable way. "Look Lovi, I knew that you'd react like this."

I felt unpleasant knots form in my stomach. My throat closed up and my cheeks started to flush violently with embarrassment. He…he knew that I'd react like this? What does that mean?

Does he know that…

"And I understand completely how you feel," he continued, looking up at me with those shimmering green eyes of his.

Oh God. Mio Dio…Nghhhhhh….sexy eyes….

And that voice. That damn voice…

"If Feliciana were my younger sister, I'd be protective of her as well. You're a caring older sibling, and I respect that," he stated firmly, as if he were completely confident in everything he was saying.

I gaped at him.

So…so he doesn't know that I like him. He thinks that I reacted the way I did because I was being overly protective of Feliciana?

I almost laughed.

What kind of bullshit is that?

Sure, I've had to look after my sister before, but that's because she's a brainless idiot who prances around, making alliances with kinky Japanese fucktards and damn potato bastards without even telling me. I mean seriously! Look at World War II! What the hell was that?

I got so pissed at her for that, that I attempted to strangle her, which resulted in a very awkward and revolting situation where both of our curls got tangled together.

Gesu Cristo, that sucked ass. It only made it worse when she called the potato head for help, as he was the one who had untangle our curls! Do you understand how violated I felt with his dirty hands all over my erogenous zone?

And my sister is still best friends with the damn beer-drinking, wurst-fucking bastard.

So you now understand the stupidity of my sister, si?

"Y-you think that I-I…" I stuttered, my face still completely red. However, I was cut off by Antonio.

"I'm just asking you for permission because I care a lot about you, and I don't want you to feel awkward or anything if you're sister and I got together."

Dear Mother of Mercy. How oblivious can this dipshit get? Does he honestly think that…that…How can he NOT see it? How long has he known me again? I have spent basically every waking moment with him this summer. Surely he's caught me drooling at the sight of him a few times! And then Francis's party! He had to see the way I looked at him as he danced with me! Even someone as clueless as Alfred could probably tell that I wanted to get it in!

So I really have nothing to say.

I'm afraid of what I might say.

"So…please, Lovi? Pretty please? I know you don't want to hear his, but I really like Feliciana a lot. I promise that my intentions are good. And I'll treat her well!"

My heart broke at this. I felt my insides twist and squirm and deteriorate. I cannot believe this. No! Absolutely not! If the final decision is up to me, then I will NOT allow it!

But, how can I resist that face of his? Those wide, sincere green eyes, that pout, that glimmer of hope on his face…I can't just deny him of something that would make him really happy, especially in the wake of an awful economy.

Wow, I sound so selfless don't I? I should be a saint.

Hmmm. Saint Lovina Vargas. Patron saint of all those sharing unwanted genetic, and the heartbroken.

I let out a soft sigh. Wow, I'm really breaking aren't I?

"Why do you like her?" I asked, crossing my arms, struggling to keep my voice steady. Steady and harsh. I need to let the bastard know that this isn't bothering me as much as it really is.

He smiled sheepishly as he ran his hand through his messy dark hair. A light blush coated his cheeks.

"Well, I've liked her for about a year now. But she was always like my little sister, you know? Kind of like you are to me."

Bastard. Do you understand how much that just hurt? Fuck you.

"But then I started to hang around her more after world conferences. And I realized that I really like her. She's really funny, pretty, kind, and she always knows what to say to make me happy," he said, his face getting redder and redder by the second.

And my heart was breaking more and more by the millisecond.

I can't believe this. I just cannot believe my luck. Why the hell does Feliciana get everything?

Here's the one thing…the ONE thing that I thought I had a possibility at acquiring, but no. Feliciana just has to sweep in and take Antonio as well. Go figure.

But I'm Lovina Vargas. I'm a badass, sexy chick with dignity. And I am going to be the selfless, saintly person and let the bastard date my sister.

Even though I really really want to cry right now.

So I deflate in defeat, stare at my feet dejectedly, willing myself not to start tearing up. "Fine. Go ahead and ask the little bitch out."

Antonio's face seemed to light up, as if Christmas had come early. Or his economy suddenly experienced a beneficial financial boom. I can't describe how much it hurt to see that it…the thought that Feliciana was the one making him smile. And not me.

Have I ever made him smile like that? I make him happy, right?

"Really? Gracias, Lovi! I can't tell you how much I love you!" he exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around me.

And that hurt even more. I just stood there, feeling his strong warm arms embrace me as the tears started to leak out of my eyes. My chest constricted, and my mouth felt dry. I felt absolutely sick. I felt like someone had shoved Arthur's scones down my throat.

Finally he let go of me, and I feigned yawning in an attempt to justify the tears that were spilling out of my eyes.

"Also, one more thing," he said, sounding nervous again.

Whatever. Bring it. It can't get any worse than this.

Well, actually it can, but I don't want to think about it.

"She's coming over tonight. She thinks that she's just going to have dinner with us, but I'm actually going to ask her out on a date. I want to take her to that new fancy Italian restaurant that just opened a few months ago. You'll help me with this, si?" he asked with that adorable hopeful voice of his.

Well, fuck me. In the ass. With Francis's STD infested cock.


	3. The Crappiness Soars

"Sorella!"

Eye twitch.

"It's so great to see you; it feels as if I haven't talked to you in forever!"

Fist clench.

"Isn't it so nice of Antonio to invite me over for dinner?"

Muscle spasm.

"Don't you like my new dress? I decided to wear it when Toni told me to come over."

Bitch, get out of here.

Giggle. "Spagna is so sweet."

Is that a dreamy voice I hear?

I am about to have a fucking hernia right now.

"Eh…sorella...you are alright, si?" Feliciana asked in what sounded like a genuine tone. I allowed myself to glance at her, standing in the middle of my room, adorned in a dainty (expensiveasfuckinghell) pink dress that looked like it barely covered her ass.

Her coppery eyes were wide and innocent as she stared at me. Her lips were set in a charming grin, and her head was tilted gently to the side, her long, smooth, curly brown locks spilling over her shoulders elegantly. I can't even begin to describe how out of place she looked, standing in my massive tornado fuck of a room.

Then of course, there was me: sulking like a motherfucker, glaring daggers at the bitch, hair still messy and frizzy, clothes stained with dirt from being outside, the epitome of unattractive. Yet, I didn't give a flying two shits right now. What I cared about was that the fact that this bitch, who happens to be my sister, is about to go on a date with Antonio Carriedo because he's just head over flying rainbow shit farts in love with her. And it sucks ass. You know why boys and girls? Because Lovina Vargas wants that ass as well.

"Eh, dinner should be ready soon, sorella. Shouldn't you dress a little nicer?" Feliciana pressed, that stupid smile still present on her face.

"Nope," I deadpanned.

She blinked at me in surprise. "Why?"

"Because I don't fucking feel like it, that's why!" I snapped back at her, my voice laced with venom. But the little cagna is too much of an idiot to even tell the difference between when I normally talk, and when I insult. According to the albino potato bastard, it's the same thing.

Her eyes widened slightly. "Ve, but sorella, you should show some manners! Spagna is making us dinner, after all."

"He makes fucking food for me all the time."

"At least clean off the dirt," Feliciana mused, her eyes still wide. Oh fuck off, you little pasta-humping whore.

Wow, I'm such a nice, nourishing older sister, si?

"I don't feel like it, dammit! It's not like he cares anyways," I spat back, running my hand through my thick mass of weeds that tries to pass off as "hair."

"But Loviiiiiii….." she whined, pouting slightly. "It's been forever since I've seen you, and I was hoping for a nice dinner tonight…just you, me, and Toni. The least you can do is clean up a bit!"

I stared at Feliciana's wide eyed, puppy-dog stare. Okay, as much as I want to rip her entrails out right now, I just…can't…resist…those…eyes….and…

"Fine! Gesu Cristo, just don't look at me like that!" I snapped, marching toward the bed, wondering if I did actually have anything decent to wear hidden in my huge sacred pile of shit. I growled as I threw item over item over my shoulder. I already knew that Feliciana was staring wide eyed at me, probably having an inner panic attack from how unsanitary I was. Well, she can suck it.

God…did I really wear those pants? What the fuck! Toss.

Why is there a weird stain on this shirt? Toss.

….Another box of condoms? Seriously? Toss.

"V-Ve sorella, all you have to do is wash up a bit if you can't find any clothes," Feliciana remarked.

Fuck you.

I spun around and glared daggers at her. "Don't tell me what to do, dammit!" I screeched at her, feeling my cheeks heat up and my fists clench. Feliciana jumped up in surprise, her eyes wide with shock.

"Lovi, why are you in such a bad mood today?"

Oh…so NOW she notices.

"I'm not!"

"Si, you are! Did something happen that I should know about?" she asked in a honey-sweet voice that would kick Liechtenstein's innocence up the ass.

I didn't say anything. I just grinded my teeth together…like a boss.

….Hey, don't look at me like that! I'm just trying to lighten the mood here!

"Come on, Lovi! You can tell me anything!" she whined. Before I could protest, I felt her arms wrap around my torso from behind. I looked over my shoulder to glare at her, meeting her wide, innocent stare.

"Ack! There's nothing wrong," I pressed, wriggling out of her grasp. I subconsciously wiped my nose and sniffed.

Feliciana stared at me for a few more minutes before shrugging and grinning. "Okay, sorella. Whatever you say. When you're ready to talk about it, I'm here!" She batted her eyelashes and gave a small giggle.

I had to suppress a gag. Seriously…how the fuck am I related to this bitch? Sigh. I guess we can't choose our relatives. At least I don't have Natalia as a sister. You don't understand how sorry I feel for the Russian bastard.

I allowed myself to collapse on my bed…well…on top of the mounds of clothing and whothehellknows whatelse that happened to be splayed all over my bed. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, trying to calm my bitter jealousy.

I couldn't tell Feliciana how I felt about Antonio. Obviously, there were some major problems with that idea.

First of all, Antonio likes Feliciana. That just sucks hard tits.

Second of all, Feliciana may like Antonio back. I don't want to risk it.

Third of all, Feliciana is an oblivious idiot with a big-ass mouth, and she'll go blabbing out my secret to the world, which would result in my early death from high-blood pressure and complete embarrassment. Oh, and after a few days of mourning over the loss of South Italy, Feliciana would become the only Italy, and Antonio would sweep her off her feet. The two would then go riding off into the sunset, making out on a beautiful white horse that would give Gandalf's Shadowfax a run for its money.

Wow…I really need to stop the Lord of the Rings references. New Zealand would be proud.

So, obviously, you can see the issue.

There was a moment of silence that passed between both Feliciana and I. However, it was broken by the light sound of my sorella clearing her throat nervously.

"Ve…Lovi?" she asked in a tone that suggested anxiousness. I didn't bother to sit up or acknowledge the fact that she had spoken. I kept my eyes squeezed shut, not sure if I wanted her to continue.

"Lovi…are you awake?" she pressed.

"….Si…" I answered through gritted teeth.

"Oh…good. I…um…have something to ask you."

Why did my stomach just sour at those words? Good God, please don't tell that she's going to say what I think she's going to say. It would be fucking torture. Good Lord Jesus Christ, why do you hate me so much?

I grinded my teeth together, not saying a word. Might as well get this over with.

"What?" I choked out.

Feliciana let out a nervous laugh. I could just picture her crossing her hands behind her back, and shuffling her feet as her cheeks flushed. I inwardly scowled at the thought. How sickening.

"Um…you see….sorella, I sort of…like this boy…."

Kill me now.

Just take that gun of yours and shoot me in the head. And if you don't have a gun, call up the Swiss bastard for me, will you?

She didn't need to say who this boy was. I could already tell that it was the dear tomato bastard just with the tone of her voice.

This couldn't just be a coincidence. This was God's work. GOD! WHY? ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME SOMETHING HERE? What sort of divine revelation is he bestowing upon me? And why did it have to fucking hurt so damn much?

"…And I should care, why?" I growled, still not moving a muscle.

"Ve…I need you to help me! You and Antonio are really close, and I was just wondering if you could find out whether he liked me or not!"

Si. There it is. Right there. Alright…let's wait for the pain to flood in…yup…uh-huh….OUCH! There it is. I winced as I felt the lump form in my throat. Don't cry Lovi. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

I flipped over on my bed and buried my face in the sheets to hide the sudden flow of tears.

"…The tomato bastard, huh?" I choked out, hoping that the trembling of my voice wasn't too prominent.

"Please don't call him that, Lovi. He raised you; he has been nothing but kind to you," she scolded lightly with one of the most sincere voices that I have ever heard.

Pfft. Cagna.

"I don't give a flying French jizz. I'm calling him whatever the hell I want," I said, my voice slightly muffled by the thick covers.

"…Go downstairs, Feliciana," I almost pleaded, wanting nothing more than to be alone to wallow in my own misery. This was hopeless. Why the hell can this bitch just walk in with a pretty dress and a pretty smile and take everything?

"S-Sorella?" she asked. The tone of her voice suggested that she realized that there was something wrong with me. She's a genius, my sister. "Are you alright?"

I could hear her small footsteps approach the foot of the bed. She prodded my shoulder; I immediately stiffened.

"J-Just leave me alone, Feli. I'm fine. Go downstairs and talk to Antonio for a while, si?"

Fuck. I sounded like a dying dog. Does my voice always sound like that when I cry? That sucks ass.

"No! Lovi, you're not okay! You're crying! Please tell me what's wrong! Is there something happening back in the South that I should know about? I can help you, you know! We're both Italy, si?" she pleaded.

In that single second, I felt my hatred and jealousy for my sister dissipate. I suddenly wondered why I was distasteful of her in the first place. Sure, she may be a shallow ditz with a misplaced brain. But she was still genuine wasn't she? Well…a hell of a lot more genuine than me anyways. Was there ever a time where Feli ever yelled at me out of pure bitterness? I can't recall a time to be honest. Our "fights" consisted of her pleading with me, and me screaming my ass off at her.

"N-No…nothing like that. Just go downstairs, per favore? I'll be fine," I responded, still not removing my face from the bed.

But I knew that she wouldn't budge. She rubbed my back gently in a circular motion and pressed gently, "I can't just leave you here. Can't you please just tell me? Is it a personal problem?"

Si. A pathetic, personal problem that involved heartbreak and bitter jealousy. Wow, for personifying part of a country, I really am pathetic. I mean, I've been through bloody ass wars, economic problems, political drama, and yada yada this and that; yet, here I am, bitching about how a boy doesn't like me back. That's so fucking human of me.

I clenched my teeth.

After a few more minutes of rubbing my back, Feliciana sighed and stopped. "I'm getting Antonio, sorella. Maybe you'll talk to him."

…

…

…..NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I immediately bolted upwards, staring at my sister in wide-eyed panic. I knew that I probably had snot running down my nose, and that my eyes were red and watery, but I didn't give a shit. There is no way I am going to let Feliciana get the tomato bastard involved in this. It would just make everything worse than it already was.

Feliciana stared back at me with wide eyes. She tilted her head to the side innocently. "Lovi?"

"D-Don't…" I started, taking deep breaths. Why couldn't I talk? WHY THE FUCKING HELL COULDN'T I TALK?

"Ve, don't what, Lovi?"

I opened my mouth and shut it, trembling uncontrollably. "A-Antonio….don't…."

What was I trying to say?

Was I really telling her to not fetch him, or was I telling her to…to not hitch with the bastard?

Che Palle! I'm crazy! I'm going crazy!

Feliciana looked at me with panic in her eyes. "Stay right there, sorella. I'll be right back…"

There was urgency in her voice as she opened the door, and slammed it shut behind her, leaving me sitting on my bed, the deafening silence consuming me.

I gulped, the tears still spilling down my cheeks.

Well, shit.

This was going to be fucking embarrassing as hell.

I collapsed back on the bed, covered my head with a pillow, and bit at the sheets that met my lips to suppress a scream of frustration. I felt like I was a child throwing a tantrum, just like in the good ol' days.

I….don't…want…to….talk…to…Antonio….fucking….CARRIEDO!

I knew how this would go. He would come in, all worried and flustered and shit. He would sit on the bed, start petting my head, and ask me what is wrong. I wouldn't tell him, and he'd press the subject with that stupid pout of his, and I would snap and insult him, and he would just smile and tell me that boss Spain can fix everything.

That's how it always went.

But this time, it's different.

Waaaayyyyy different.

I heard the door open before I could process another thought. Aww shit. Here we go.

"Lovi?"

His voice is so damn beauti—ACK!

Mental slap.

I heard his footsteps approach. I clenched my fists and bit my lip, praying that my heart wouldn't jump out of my chest.

I felt the bed shift slightly under his weight as he sat on the edge. I could feel his presence mere inches away from me. I could smell him, feel his warmth…

Don't move, Lovina Vargas.

I heard him sigh. "Que paso, mi tomate?"

His voice was gentle and soothing. The sound of it stopped my shuddering, but it didn't do anything to ease the constant ache in my chest. I didn't trust myself to open my mouth.

So guess what, bitches?

I didn't.

Si. Because I'm epic like that.

"Lovi…" he pleaded gently. I felt his fingertips brush against my spine softly; I stiffened.

D-Dammit… fucking hormones…..

Yet, he didn't seem to notice my body's physical reaction to his touch. He kept stroking my back in a similar fashion that Feli did…but let me tell you something.

It was a totally different experience.

Okay, I'm dramatizing. The tomato bastard had stroked my back millions of times before. But it's not like it ever affected me.

And yet, here I am, clenching my teeth, my face flushing, and my toes curling.

Mio Dio, is this idiota really that fucking oblivious?

Sigh. I think I've already went over this countless times.

"What's wrong, querida? Please tell me; you know you can tell me anything."

I shifted slightly, but didn't open my mouth, nor show him my face. I was so damn distracted by the way he stroked my back. It was like my spine had these sex endocrines that released hormones to make me horny or something.

…. And that didn't make sense at all, did it?

See what he's doing to me? I can't even think straight right now!

Dammit! I don't want another ultra-sensitive erogenous zone! My curl gives me enough trouble. Too bad I never got around to telling Antonio what it actually does. He just knows not to touch it, or he will get his precious, sexy ass invaded by my foot.

"Look, Feliciana is worried about you, and I won't be able to rest knowing that my Lovi is upset," he said. I could hear the pout in his voice. Trust me, friend. It didn't help. At all.

Damn the Spaniard and his pout. Damn him to hell.

Alright Lovina, just calm down and keep your eyes shut and maybe he'll leave-STOP STROKING MY FUCKING BACK! I'm getting sort of horny here! It would be extremely awkward if I had an orgasm right now. Trust me. I would never live it down.

I squeezed the pillow harder, my fingernails aching from the amount of pressure I was putting on them. It didn't help that Antonio had the nerve to bend down, brush his lips over my ear gently, and whisper, "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong, mi poco tomate."

His breath washed over my cheek, warm and…and…..

His hand was now playing with my hair, his fingers gently smoothing out the vicious tangles.

Nghhhhh….he's so damn close…..way too close.

"ACCK!" I spat, springing up from the bed, squirming and twirling my body in a way that I'm sure will leave some sort of permanent bruise. I quickly scrambled away from Antonio, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it to my chest while I glared venomously at him, my eyes stinging and my legs curled up toward my chest.

Antonio stared at me in shock, his wide shining green eyes making my stomach flutter. My face was so fucking hot that you could fry eggs on it. And they would be good eggs because they came from my face, you bitch. Don't mock me!

"Lovi…." Antonio started, staring at me, confusion clearly written across his face.

"It's nothing, you damn bastard! Just clear off!" I spat. I'm just so believable aren't I?

He shook his head slowly, the frown still present on his face. "No, Lovina, there's definitely something bothering you, and I'm staying right here until you tell me what it is." He actually had the nerve to toss me an innocent smile following that statement. I seriously hate him. Really. I want to kill him. Or kiss him. Or fuck him. Or any combination of the three.

Damn. I'm kinky as hell.

Okay, so what the hell do I tell him? I can't just tell him the truth. Imagine how that'll go.

Hey, hey Spagna cutie…I'm sooooooo upset because I have this huge crush on you and I really want to have sex with you right now, but I can't because you would rather shove your cock up my sister's pussy. Insert maniac, prissy girl giggle here.

Si. You really want to see how that goes? Well, I don't.

Okay, the bastard is oblivious as fuck. Maybe I can come up with some sort of lie. Maybe I can bullshit something about the economy or something. No, no, that won't work. If there was some sort of economic crisis happening back in Italy, Feliciana would be affected with it and everyone would know about it. I winced. What do I do?

Alright, how about this? What if I grab the ropes and the gun and…what the hell am I saying? Okay, scratch that.

I sighed. Maybe I can just tell him the truth, without telling him everything. As embarrassing as it will be to admit to Antonio that I'm upset about a boy, it will get him off my back. And it's not like I'll tell him who this person is.

"So, are you planning to tell me or not?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips.

Oh, you beautiful bastard.

I turned my head away, squeezing the pillow to my chest. Mio Dio, I already felt as if the temperature in the room had increased dramatically. I gulped. "If I tell y-you, will you get the fuck out of here and leave me alone?"

The Spaniard chuckled slightly in response. "Whatever will make my Lovi happy."

Ooohhhh…damn him.

"Fine. B-But you better not tell anyone about this, got it bastard?" I growled.

Antonio nodded sincerely, never taking his eyes off of me. "Si, si! Of course! I promise I won't tell anybody!"

Alright, good then. Let's get started, shall we? I took a deep breath and said, "This sounds k-kind of pathetic, but I like this….um…."

I started to twitch.

Antonio tilted his head questioningly. "Si, Lovi?"

"B-B-Boy…." I managed to choke out.

There was a ringing silence around the room. I stared at my hands, wondering what the hell the idiota was thinking. After a moment, the silence was broken by Antonio's amused voice.

"Dios Mio! You like a boy? My Lovi rarely ever has crushes; what a surprise this is!"

Instant sulk. Sulk. Sulk. Sulk.

Trust me; you can't help it when your crush sounds amused by the fact that you actually like someone. Before I could open my mouth to retaliate, he was at my side again, rubbing my head gently, a stupid smile plastered on his face.

"Stop touching m—"

"I remember the last person you went on a date with was that pendejo from Portugal. Hopefully the person you like is nothing like him, si?"

Fuck…stop touching my head….

"So, Lovi, who is it?"

I bristled. "Like I'm going to tell you, you damn bastard!"

"Aww…come on! Boss Spain wants to know who this lucky hijo is," he pouted, throwing both of his arms around me. He pressed his cheek against mine, and my heartbeat started to pound against my chest once again.

Dammit…Don't…do …that….fucking….

"No."

"Por favore?"

"No."

"Pleeeassseeee?"

"I said no."

"I told you who I liked, Lovi, and that was hard for me, considering it was your hermana. Come on! It can't be that bad!"

Fuck you.

"Absolutely not."

"But…"

"Ack! It doesn't matter who it is, you fucking idiota, because he doesn't like me back," I spat, squeezing the pillow tighter to my chest, feeling as if molten hot waves of lava were cascading over my whole damn body.

There was another moment of silence as Antonio pulled back to look at me fully. I avoided his green eyed stare by continuing to glare forward, my cheeks flushing violently.

"Is that why you're upset?" he asked tenderly. So tenderly that it broke my heart. My eyes filled with tears as I held my breath, nodding.

Goddammit…how can he be so oblivious? Can't he see what's in front of him? I'm right fucking here, dammit! I'm practically confessing my feelings to him…sort of…

Antonio sighed and reached out a hand to tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear. I had to stop myself from shuddering at the motion. "Lo siento, mi querida. Heartbreak is tough, si? But think about it this way…"

Oh great. Now what does the fucking matador got to say? I'm really not in the mood to hear philosophical words of advice from a tomato-fucking bull-humping sexy-as-hell Spaniard.

"If this boy cannot see how great you are, than he isn't worth it," he stated, stroking my cheek gently. I dared myself to look at him straight in the face as his fingers slipped away. He gave me a reassuring, yet completely oblivious smile.

….I want to kick a kitten. I want to kick it so hard that Greece will physically writhe on the floor in pain as that cat lodges itself up his ass. Hey…we can't deny that he'd find that somewhat arousing.

I quickly looked away and rubbed my nose, sniffing a bit. I glared forward in frustration; he'll never get it will he? He just won't unless I say it straight to his face. And that's not going to happen anytime soon, given the fact that he was about to take my sorella out on a date. The stupid motherfuckers.

"G-Grazie, bastard. You can go now," I huffed halfheartedly. Despite my attempt to stop the tears, they spilled over, trailing down my cheeks.

"L-Lovi…? Are you crying?" he asked, his voice laced with concern once again.

I shook my head, attempting to wipe my tears away. "No, no. I'm fucking fine, dammit! Just go downstairs and take Feliciana on the date."

He didn't move. Not a muscle. He just kept staring at me. Fucking hell! What part of go away does he NOT understand?

"I-I…I'll just take a nap or something. I'm just in a bad mood because I'm tired," I ranted. Bullshit. Pure unadulterated bullshit.

"Roma…" he started, exasperation present in his voice.

"Look…" I pressed in the calmest voice that I could. I even attempted to smile in his direction (though I'm sure it made me look extremely constipated). "I swear that I'm fine, Toni. Just go downstairs and leave me alone for a while. Plus…y-you don't want to keep Feli w-waiting."

Silence passed between us for another moment or two before Antonio let out a small sigh. He got up from the bed and ran his hand nervously through his hair. "Alright, I'll take your word for it this time, mi tomate, but if I see that this is still bothering you in the near future, then I won't let you off the hook, you understand?"

I nodded half-heartedly, images of my sister and Antonio filling my vision, swimming around in a sickeningly hypnotic way. There was nothing I could do about it now.

I looked at him and he smiled…a smile that reflected his excitement. His eyes sparkled and his whole face seemed to light up. As much as it hurt, I had to admit that I couldn't help but let a small smile of my own slip onto my lips at the sight.

"…Hey tomato bastard…if you dare hurt my sorella, I will shove my hand so far up your ass that I will be able to reach your ribs, you hear me?" I pressed weakly as he made his way toward the door.

Antonio looked over his shoulder, throwing me a dazzling smile. "Now there's the same old Lovi that I know and love. You promise that you will never change, si?"

He chuckled slightly before winking at me, and walking out the door. The sound of it closing shut behind him left me in a hazy shock filled with nothing but silence. Numbing silence. But it was brief. Way too brief.

For soon, I found myself clutching the pillow to my chest once again as more tears started to spill from my eyes.

"Vaffanculo, Antonio," I choked out, burying my face in the pillow. "Can't you see how much I fucking love you?"


	4. The Crappiness Blows

Fuck my life.

FUCK MY LIFE!

Si. That was the mantra I was repeating over and over again in my head as I kept my face buried in a thick, feathery pillow. A fucking dirty one stained with my pathetic tears. Yes. There I go again with the stupid self pity. I've really got to stop that. Or actually no. I won't. Because I don't have to. That's right, motherfuckers.

I attempted to stifle my sobs by holding my breath so that those damn shudders wouldn't escape my lips, but it just didn't work. What the hell was the use? No one's here anyways. So, I'm going to just let it all out! And fuck you for criticizing me for doing so.

I rolled over so that I was facing the ceiling, my eyes studying the strange pattern of cracks that ran across it; damn, this really was an old room. It seemed like not much has changed since I was a kid around here. The walls were the same color, the garden outside looked the same, the scent was always the same, Antonio himself was always the same…

Antonio, my precious Antonio. Holy mother-effing virgin tits, that sounded corny as fuck.

Okay, let's back up and try that again.

Antonio, that fucking tomato bastard, Antonio.

Alright, that's much better.

I just don't understand it.

I'm right here, dammit.

I've been here all along, haven't I?

Sure, I've beaten up on him a bit and shit, but it's not like he didn't deserve it! Plus, he's always seemed to love me. Ever since I was a kid! Si, I gave him a shit time when I first came to live with him; yes, the queen at the time wanted me gone… but he still fought for me. And the scars all over his body prove that!

Maybe I should've been a bit more appreciative, a bit more docile like my sister. After all, she is the one that caught his eye. And now, they're on a fucking date. Probably sharing pasta, slurping it up until their lips meet like that one movie about those two dogs. Uh…what was it called again? Merda, I'm horrible. Disney is going to kick my ass one day.

No…no….NO. What am I saying? I sat up and rubbed my eyes, glaring at the wall opposite me.

I am Lovina fucking Vargas. I am the personification of South Italy, dammit. I have the damn Mafioso under my big left toe, and I am an independent woman. I don't need _Spagna _to love me like that. Hell, I don't need _anybody. _

Fuck romance.

I can just romance myself, si?

It's called masturbation.

…. Don't tell the Vatican that I just thought that.

I grabbed a pillow and slammed it against my face, squeezing my eyes shut and biting my bottom lip to prevent another round of shudders.

Stop it, Lovina. Just stop. You're better than this. You're not some weak, mortal bitch who cries about some asshole going on a date with your prettier, perfect-as-fucking Mary Sue sister. Hell, you're a damn _country. _Okay, well part of a country…but STILL! That counts. Right? RIGHT?

Removing the pillow, I glanced over at the small clock propped on the beside table. It was eleven forty two. ELEVEN FUCKING FORTY TWO! Gesu Cristo, restaurants are definitely closed by now. Please do not tell me that they are going on a mother-effing walk under the starlit sky.

Pffft. Fail. There aren't even any stars out tonight. HA!

But there is a full moon. A very pretty full moon.

Dammit.

Or…no. NO! What if they're…they're…

What if they're engaging in human-like reproductive activities?

Ahh…hell… that was phrased badly.

What if they're _fucking. _

ACK! Che Palle! Noooooooooo! They better not be, or I'll…I'll…

I got nothing.

Deciding to sit up, I winced slightly as my head ached. My nose was slightly stuffed and my eyes stung from the amount of crying I had done. Hopefully my eyes weren't too swollen. If Antonio notices that I've been bawling my eyes out, he's never going to leave me alone until I tell him what the problem is, and he'll be so damn persistent that I'll have no choice but to tell him the truth.

And as I've said about a trillion times before, that would definitely NOT be a good thing.

I looked out at the scenery beyond the open window. I always warm nights like this, where I could just leave the windows open with no fear of it becoming extremely cold. Sighing, I forced my ass off of the bed and walked to it, running my hands against the frame, sniffling.

Huh…I feel like that one bitch with the extremely long hair. You know…that one that throw a huge ass braid out the window for her true love to climb it? Okay, Eiw. Just no. That guy must have some sort of weird hair fetish if he's willing to tap a chick with that much hair.

But for some reason, I had always loved that story. I always found it charming, that he was willing to love her, to visit her, even if she couldn't leave the tower, even though her hair was nastily long. (Oh God… if her hair grew that much, and she had no access to scissors, I would LOVE to know how long her OTHER hair is…actually, no. I wouldn't. I'll just shut up.)

The warm breeze felt nice against my tear-stained face. I almost momentarily forgot about why I was upset. In truth, I loved it here. A lot. I would never admit it, but it was home to me. So many memories lingered here; from being a little brat to Antonio, to cleaning and sweeping shit, to cursing out Antonio as a little kid, to climbing into his bed when I was frightened at night, to picking tomatoes out in his garden then and now…

I just…I just don't like the idea of sharing that with anyone else.

I know. It sounds selfish as hell.

But the idea that Feliciana might be…might be taking my place… okay. I'm being stupid.

I'll just…no.

These are my thoughts.

Fuck off.

The thought that Feliciana might have all of this, that I may be replaced… it hurts. I'm afraid that I'll mean nothing to him soon. That's what's already happened with everything else, si? Feliciana is always the remembered one, the loved one. No one gives a shit about me.

Is that going to happen with Antonio now?

My thoughts were cut off by the sound of laughter.

Twitch.

Twitch twitch.

The sound of the front door opening and closing resonated throughout the house as the laughter continued. An entanglement of joyful laughter, loving laughter.

Antonio's laugh was unmistakable.

Sadly, so was my sorella's.

They sure as hell sounded like they had a damn good time.

Twitch. Twitch. Twitch.

Fucking hell, I wish noises didn't reverberate throughout this house so easily.

"Dios Mio, Feli, you are adorable!"

A giggle. My sorella's charming giggle. "Grazie, Toni; you aren't too bad yourself."

Twitch. Twitch. Twitch. Twitch.

"I had an amazing time tonight."

I could tell that his tone had shifted. His voice had grown tender, almost husky. I could almost envision him inching closer to Feliciana, his green eyes shining.

"I did as well. I…"

"Si?"

"I…like you, Antonio. I like you a lot."

Aaaaaannnnnnddddddd…. Silence.

Which pretty much means…cue kiss scene.

…..

I bit my bottom lip as my chest clenched unbearably, a fresh load of tears spilling out of my eyes. Don't think about it Lovina. You knew that this was going to happen. Just look out the window, breathe, and think of the good times.

Yet, I couldn't help it. I couldn't help but think about the little romantic rendez-vous that was happening downstairs. It should be _me _in Feli's place. I should be the one kissing that stupid-ass tomato bastard. Oh Jesus. I sound like a desperate, pathetic _cagna. _

After a few more seconds, the voices started again.

"Feli…"

"Toni…"

_My gag reflex. _

There was another beat of silence before I heard my sorella speak again, her voice laced with concern.

"I want to go check on sorella. She was really upset about something today."

My eyes widened at her statement as I quickly detached myself from the window and literally dived into the bed, letting out a small yelp as my nose hit something hard. Jesus Christ…NOW what the hell was hiding in this plethora of blankets? I quickly thrust my hand in front of my face, feeling around for what I hit.

Another box of condoms.

Are you kidding me?

As I mentioned before, I am NOT sexually active.

Fucking hell, Spagna.

I tossed it angrily over my shoulder and proceeded to angrily burrow my head into the sheets, inhaling sharply to calm my hyper-active emotions. However, the tears were still spilling, and I could still hear them talking down stairs.

"Ah, si. She told me what was wrong, but I don't think she wants anyone else to know about it," Antonio answered, his voice abnormally soft, yet still discernible. I could almost picture that concerned expression on his face… the way his green eyes would widen, the way his lips would downturn just the slightest fraction…

Yes. I have it memorized.

Again. We're not judging here, right?

Feliciana gasped lightly. "Si? She told you? I am her sister; I want to know so that I can comfort her."

"Ay, Feli, I honestly don't think she wanted _anyone _to know. She even had an extremely hard telling me," Antonio responded.

"Ve... But… Lovi…"

"Why don't you talk to her tomorrow, mi amor? I'm guessing that she is asleep right now; it's very quiet. If she were awake, you'd be able to hear her raging upstairs."

_Wha-I don't. _

_The fuck._

_I don't "rage." _

_I just put my foot down and holler out my opinions so that everyone can understand that I have an opinion._

_And…no. He didn't._

_Did he just seriously call her…_

_Mi amor?_

_Farewell, happiness. _

_It was nice knowing you._

Feliciana gave a light chuckle in response. "You're probably right. I don't want to disturb her if she is sleeping. I guess I'll be heading home then."

"Que? But it's late, Feli. Are you sure you don't want to just sleep here, tonight? It wouldn't be any trouble," Antonio asked, his voice acquiring a hopeful tone. A bit _too _hopeful if you ask me. I felt my fingernails dig into my palms as my chest burned once again.

"No. I really should be heading home; I'm currently staying at Ludwig's guest house. He's letting me use it for a few days while he's out of town. I was left in charge of his dogs, and I realized that I forgot to refill their water bowls," she responded with a light chuckle. I absolutely hated her for having such a lovely chuckle .

I can't really chuckle.

I laugh.

And my laughs consist of loud, ear-deafening, bird-like squawks and snorts that would put pigs to shame.

"Alright, mi amor, Buenos noches. And please drop by tomorrow for a bit. I would love to spend some more time with you." I could literally see that cute little grin that was probably playing on his lips right now. And it destroyed me. Absolutely annihilated by precious emotion box.

Yes. Emotion box.

You know how you're supposed to have a laughing box?

Well, there's an emotion box as well.

Don't ask fucking questions, bastard.

Just go with it, si?

Another lovely giggle. "Of course. Buonanotte, Toni. Expect to see me around ten tomorrow. And grazie for a lovely night."

With their final farewell, I heard the door shut. I held my breath, my ears ringing with a deafening silence. However, after a few minutes, I heard the unmistakable sound of the idiot's footfalls. For some reason, I was always to discern different people's footsteps.

Feliciana's were light and swift. The potato bastard's were heavy and steady. His stupid albino brother's were uneven and all over the place. Bella's were medium paced and gentle. Antonio's always seemed unsteady, yet fairly heavy. His footfalls had a certain characteristic about them that made them the most discernible of all.

I know. It's sad that I listen for people's footsteps.

Actually, no it's not.

For the billionth time, we're not judging! Jesus!

I squeezed my eyes shut as I heard his footsteps travel up the stairs, the echo resonating throughout the house in an almost ominous way.

To my utter misfortune, they stopped right outside my door. My breath hitched slightly as I heard my door creak open, the noise causing me to visibly cringe.

I knew that Antonio was looking at me. I could literally feel his emerald green eyes seer through my clothes. And no. I'm not strangely addicted to the idea of some weird-ass stalker watching me while I sleep.

God. I'll never understand Alfred and his weird-ass supernatural romance stories.

Hey, at least Toni's not a pale, sparkly Romania-wannabe.

Antonio always used to check up on me every night to make sure that I was sleeping well when I was little. I always pretended to be fast asleep, unless of course, I was genuinely scared or bothered about something. Those were some of the only times I'd ever let him hold me. And during those times, he'd gently rock me until I fell asleep again.

But usually, I was just plain annoyed that the tomato bastard bothered at all. I thought it was fucking creepy. It wasn't until later that I realized that he was just a poor, paranoid idiot who was under the impression that I'd suddenly undergo cardiac arrest if he wasn't there. In other words, he was always worried about me.

Even though I was usually always awake when he checked up on me, and usually found myself scowling into the pillows, I had grown to secretly appreciate his check-ups.

He doesn't do them very much anymore. Hell, if he did, that would be fucking weird. I'm an adult. I don't even live here anymore for fuck's sake.

But here's a confession for you, bitches.

When my sister and I got our own house, there were nights were I wouldn't sleep at all because Antonio wasn't there to do his routinely check up.

Si. Don't laugh at me.

It's called fucking familiarity, alright? I found damn comfort in it.

I struggled to keep my breathing even; even the room itself seemed to be holding his breath as Antonio's bright green eyes rested on me. A tingle went down my spine and I had to repress a shudder. He was so close, yet so far away.

I wish…I wish he would just climb into bed with me.

….Whoa.

Okay.

Back the fuck up, Lovina.

No. No. No. No. NO.

You do NOT wish for a taken man to be in bed with you; especially, if he's your sister's boyfriend.

…_Well, technically, they aren't official yet…_

Shut it. Even you know that to lust after someone else's man is just disgusting. Not only that, but to lust after your own sister's man is purely sinful.

I may not have the best moral code, but I was always very strict about that. Yes, there was no denying that I wanted Antonio, but to actually want him so desperately…so much…to want to…to do things with him while he was with your own sister was almost as bad as banging the poor bastard full on.

With those thoughts in mind, I felt the brush of fingers against the bare skin of my shoulders. I tried my best not to stiffen up visibly or give any sign that I was consciously aware of his FUCKING fingers making contact with my skin.

His fingers moved from my shoulder upwards, to brush some of the hair from my neck gently. Alright…holy shit… brain spasm overload.

Beep. Beep. Beep. BEEP. BEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP.

Then, in another swift movement, I felt his lips brush my ear. Do you understand how much willpower it took for me _not _to start squirming? I'll tell you something, bitch. It took A LOT of effort.

"Feel better, Lovi," he whispered, his voice so tender, so gentle that it made my insides literally melt away like hot caramel. Then, in another swift movement, he tenderly placed his lips on my exposed neck before I felt the space between our bodies increase.

The familiar sound of his footfalls retreating seemed to reverberate through my head as my brain buzzed and my spine tingled. When I heard my door close, leaving my ears to be victim to the ringing silence once again, I let out a large breath, frantically shifting my bodily position so that I was sitting up, my eyes wide as I stared at the door.

It hurt so damn much.

So, so much.

To the point where I almost felt numb.

To the point where I couldn't cry anymore.

I knew that I was long gone.

To know that those lips would be on my sister's , to know that those hands could be trailing down the length of Feli's body…

Nope. Nada. Absolutely not.

I would always be second best to Feliciana. I should've accepted that a long time ago. I thought I had, but I guess that Antonio was the one person I had hoped would break that pattern.

Si. I was stupid.

I know I sound like a mumbling-bumbling, whiney, attention-seeking whore, but hell, fuck you. I can't help it.

With one final look at the closed door, I squeezed my eyes shut, slammed my head against the pillow, falling into an uneasy, torturous night dream-filled night of emerald eyes, and the inability to breathe properly.

You know. Sometimes, I really really hate computers. Especially fucking social networking sites. Like facebook.

Especially facebook.

Personifications shouldn't be allowed to have fucking facebooks. Or twitters. Or Myspace. Or FaceSpace…or whatever the hell there is out there.

We all know that the lovely Lovina Vargas is already in a fucking pissy mood, so to have her log into her facebook account early the next morning, her eyes already swollen as crap, and to see a preposterous update that acted as a lovely punch to the face…

It's just not good.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo is in a relationship with Feliciana North Vargas

Like . Comment. See Friendship. 4 hours ago

Gilbert Awesome Beilschmidt, Francis Bonnefoy, Bella Jansens and 12 others like this.

Elizaveta Hedervary OH MY GOODNESS! YOU TWO ARE SO CUTE!

4 hours ago. 3 Likes

Gilbert Awesome Beilschmidt Kesesese… since when the hell did you two start screwing?

4 hours ago. Like

Elizaveta Hedervary GTFO, Beilschmidt.

4 hours ago. 2 Likes

Gilbert Awesome Beilschmidt Fuck you, crazy-ass bitch

4 hours ago. 1 Like

Vladimir Stefan I agree with the albino.

4 hours ago. 1 like

Elizaveta Hedervary FFFFFUUUUUUUU! STAY OUT OF THIS, YOU FUCKING LEECH!

3 hours ago. Like

Roderich Edelstein Brawling on a public networking site is not the way to handle things. Stop acting like children.

3 hours ago. 2 Likes

Arthur Kirkland Yes, I agree. Plus, the point of this thread is to congratulate both Feliciana and Antonio, is it not?

3 hours ago. 5 Likes

Alfred FackingHero Jones ! CONGRATS! I LIKE…TOTALLY SAW THIS COMING, BRAHSKIS! AND STOP AGREEING WITH THE PIANO-MOLESTOR, IGGY!1111

3 hours ago. 9 Likes

Arthur Kirkland I am undergoing cardiac arrest just by observing your usage of mechanics. Good God, Alfred, you are insufferable.

3 hours ago. 2 Likes

Roderich Edelstein Excuse me?

3 hours ago. Like

Francis Bonnefoy Ohonhonhon. I believe that Monsieur Kirkland needs to loosen up. Maybe a massage will do the trick? I do have magical hands~

2 hours ago. 6 Likes

Arthur Kirkland DON'T YOU DARE MAKE SUCH COMMENTS ON A PUBLIC SOCIAL NETWORKING SITE, YOU INSUFFERABLE FROG.

2 hours ago. 1 Like

Francis Bonnefoy Oui. You definitely need a massage, mon ami. Don't you dare move; I will be at your place in approximately dix minutes.

2 hours ago. 2 Likes

Alfred FackingHero Jones WHOA! SWEETNESS! CAN I LIKE…COME? I WANNA GIVE IGGY A MASSAGE!

2 hours ago. 5 Likes

Arthur Kirkland You two imbeciles better stay where you are, or I will personally chop both your bollocks off.

2 hours ago. 3 Likes

Alfred FackingHero Jones Nahhhhhhhh. Don't be like that, dude. You know you want a massage. Francis and I will like…totally make you feel good.

2 hours ago. 9 Likes

Francis Bonnefoy I never cease to bring pleasure, mon ami.

1 hour ago. 2 Likes

Elizaveta Hedervary Holy shit! I so want to see this!

45 minutes ago. 4 Likes

Gilbert Beilschmidt You would.

45 minutes ago. 2 Likes

Elizaveta Hedervary No one asked you. Go fuck yourself.

42 minutes ago. 5 Likes

Gilbert Beilschmidt I'd rather fuck you. You. Vlad. Specs. Me. Foursome. Now.

41 minutes ago. 11 Likes

Elizaveta Hedervary Don't pull that bullshit on me, Beilschmidt.

40 minutes ago. Like

Bella Janssens Congrats! You two are so cute, together!

20 minutes ago. 5 Likes

Feliciana North Vargas Grazie everybody! Toni and I really appreciate it.

18 minutes ago. 13 Likes

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo Si. Gracias, mis amigos! I offer you all internet tomates!

18 minutes ago. 14 Likes

Kiku Honda I can honestly say that I did not see this coming. But I offer you my congratulations.

15 minutes ago. 2 Likes

Feliciana North Vargas Grazie, Kiku!

12 minutes ago. 1 Like

My eye is fucking twitching right now. Literally convulsing. It's having its own damn seizure. And not just because the relationship between my sorella and Antonio is deemed "facebook" official

Facebook has the ability to melt brains.

With another scowl, I quickly logged off, and leaned back in the chair, my eyes stinging from last night, and my throat feeling as if it had permanently closed up.

Guess it's a done deal. Once something is deemed facebook official, then there's no going back. I don't know when this generation has decided that facebook was the sole judge of relationships, but that's just the fucking way it is, si?

After a few moments of staring at the desktop screen, I forced my ass up from the chair and sauntered toward the hallway. A delicious smell filled my nostrils, and the sound of something sizzling on a pan reverberated through the house.

Maybe some food would do me good. Fucking hell, I'm hungry. For all the pain and grief he's cost me, that bastardo better be making me something with tomatoes in it.

I don't know why, but I was careful to make sure that my feet were light as I walked down the stairs. I really wasn't in the mood to catch anyone's attention before I was ready to be seen. Hell, I would make my presence known when I wanted to, dammit! And that _definitely _wasn't now.

However, I froze when I heard the sound of voices talking over the hiss of whatever was cooking. Frowning, I clenched my teeth and continued to make my way down the stairs, my chest clenching as a sudden realization hit me. It was my sister. With Antonio.

Tiptoeing, I made my way to the wall next to the doorway that led to the kitchen, and pressed my back against it. With another deep breath, I peeked into the kitchen and observed the sight before me.

There was definitely something cooking on the stove; the smell was astoundingly delicious. So delicious that I was about to get an orgasm. That just tells you that there are definitely tomatoes involved. And only tomatoes can give me orgasms.

…Okay. So can Antonio. And German porn. And vibrators BUT THAT'S A FUCKING DIFFERENT STORY, OKAY? STOP. JUDGING.

My chest immediately clenched when I saw my sister leaning against the counter, a devilish smile on her lips as she gazed up into Antonio's glorious face. His emerald green eyes were extremely bright and they grazed hungrily over Feliciana's face. A smirk played on his lips as he leaned forward, his body pressed against hers, and both of his hands pinning her wrists down on the counter.

Holy hell. I sense the beginning of a porno here.

And Jesus, do they move fast.

According to facebook, their relationship has only been deemed official for four hours. FOUR HOURS!

I THOUGHT THAT NO ONE DEFIED THE FACEBOOK RULE! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?

YOU DON'T GIVE EACH OTHER SEXY TIME LOOKS WITHIN THE FIRST FOUR HOURS OF A RELATIONSHIP! ABSOLUTELY NOT! NO! NADA!

"You know Toni, not all women enjoy being cornered like this," Feliciana cooed, her lips set in a cute little smirk, her long curly brown locks barely touching the tile of the counter behind her.

"I guess I'm just lucky then, si?" he asked, his voice possessing a huskiness that made me want to fucking smack Feliciana, and then glomp the bastardo myself. But noooooo… we all know that technically, that wouldn't be the best thing for me to do.

I almost gagged as my sister let out a tiny giggle, before giving him a look that would make Hugh Hefner's saggy old dick go _poing! _

"Si. Very very lucky," she responded.

Then, in another swift motion, Antonio's lips were on hers. The sight sent an unexpected jolt of stabbing pain through my body and I had to resist the urge to start convulsing like some fucktard. My eye twitched as I stood there, my back against the wall, frozen in this position, my eyes trained on the kissing couple.

To make matters worse, Antonio suddenly gripped my sister by the hips, lifting her up effortlessly. With a small squeak, Feliciana broke the kiss for a second to catch her breath, her eyes wide with hungry lust as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist before she attached her lips to his once again, her hands tangling in his brown hair.

Yeah. No. Get your hands out of his fucking hair, you bitch.

He had her positioned so that she was witting on the edge of the counter, his hands now travelling further and further up her bare thighs, her dress hiking violently.

And fucking hell, did I have a migraine by just watching them. The sound of their kisses over the hissing of the pan made me nauseous.

No. No. nononononononononononono. NO!

I am so not tolerating this bullshit, no matter what facebook has declared. Fuck you Zuckerman!

With a shallow intake of air, I barged right into the kitchen, wearing a scary-ass smile on my face. My fists were clenched and my head was spinning uncontrollably as I burst out, "GOOD MORNING, SORELLA! GOOD MORNING, TOMATO BASTARD! WHAT A FINE, FINE MORNING, SI?"

Don't ask me why I decided to start yelling, because I don't even understand why I decided to do so in the first place. All I know is that I was successful in my intended task because the two immediately broke apart with a yelp, scrambling to get into decent positions, their faces both sporting intense blushes.

"Uh…good morning, sorella," Feliciana stated sheepishly, avoiding eye contact as she busied herself with straightening her dress. Antonio was also in a state of nervousness, his hand running through his hair as he looked anywhere but at either me or my sister.

"Did you sleep well?" Antonio asked, clearing his throat a bit as he chanced a glance in my direction. Judging by the slightly frightened expressions I received from the two of them, I must really look like Ivan on crack or some shit like that.

"OH, I SLEPT FUCKING FINE! AMAZINGLY IN FACT! IT WAS THE BEST DAMN SLEEP I'VE HAD IN CENTURIES!"

"Lovi…why are you yelling?"

"OH, AM I YELLING? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" I gave out a hearty guffaw before placing my hands on my hips, my cheeks aching from the amount of strain I was forcing into my smile.

"I JUST FEEL REALLY HAPPY TODAY! I FEEL AMAAAZING! IN FACT, I THINK THAT I'VE BEEN TOUCHED BY GOD! I THINK…HOLY MOTHER FUCKING SHIT! I THINK HE WANTS TO SPEAK TO ME! ISN'T THAT AMAZING, SORELLA? IT'S LIKE WHEN HE SENT THE ANGEL GABRIEL TO TALK TO THE VIRGIN MARY…"

"Sorella… are you sure you're okay?" Feliciana asked, a genuinely frightened look plastered on her pretty features.

"I COULD NEVER BE BETTER! HOW COULD I NOT BE OKAY IF GOD HAS SINCERELY TOUCHED MY HEART! YOU KNOW WHAT? I THINK I'M GOING TO START GOING TO CHURCH AGAIN! THE VATICAN WILL BE FUCKING PLEASED, DON'T YOU THINK? MAYBE WHEN I DIE, I CAN EVEN SKIP PURGATORY BECAUSE I'LL BE CLEANSED OF ALL MY SINS AND BECAUSE I HAVE PERMANENTLY GIVEN MY BODY UP TO BE A GOD'S TEMPLE! YOU KNOW WHAT? I'VE DISCOVERED MY VOCATION! GOD WANTS ME TO BE A NUN! NO _WONDER _WHY I WAS NEVER LUCKY IN THE ART OF ROMANCE!"

I knew that my eyes were bulging, and…and…when did I start flailing my hands? Then again, when the holy hell did I start yelling in the first place? My ears were ringing and the blood was rushing through my head as I stared at the bewildered couple. I think that if I smile anymore, my face is going to break, and then my jaw is going to fall off, and then I'll just look like that ugly-ass Japanese bitch from _The Grudge_. You know, that one who got her jaw ripped out? Ewww. Seriously, Japan.

"Lovi," Antonio spoke, his expression softening as he looked at me with sympathy. My resolve almost broke. Almost. It's alright, Lovi. Just don't look at the lips. Or the eyes. In fact, just keep that maniac smile, and look down at your feet. That's right.

"If this is about…you know…"

I knew what he was referring to. He was referring to this "secret crush" that I had. This "crush" who supposedly didn't like me back. Which he didn't. Because said crush was currently dating my stupid little sister.

And it's facebook official.

That just blows.

"PFFFFT. WHO THE FUCK CARES ABOUT THAT FUCKING BASTARD! I JUST SAID THAT I AM BECOMING A NUN BECAUSE I HAVE RECENTLY DISCOVERED MY VOCATION!"

Please don't ask me where I'm getting this bullshit from, because I honestly couldn't tell you. I swiftly turned around toward the pan to see what was cooking. Apparently, Antonio didn't get very far with the cooking, because all I saw were sizzling tomatoes in olive oil. Even though my stomach was in knots and I felt like I was going to vomit, I had to admit that the smell was still intoxicating.

"MIO DIO! THIS LOOKS DELICIOUS!" Without thinking I immediately reached into the pan to pull out a tomato.

See, the thing is, when I'm emotionally distraught, I don't think straight. And when I don't think straight, I tend to do stupid ass shit. Such as blatantly reaching for a tomato in the middle of a sizzling pan with popping olive oil.

"Lovi! You're going to-" Antonio started.

"FUCK! OW!" I exclaimed, the tears immediately forming in my eyes as I withdrew my hand from the pan, immediately bringing my finger to my mouth. After a few seconds of sucking on it, I observed it, horrified to see that blisters were already forming on the surface of my skin.

Well, fuck you too, pan.

"Sorella! Are you okay?"

I immediately felt my arm being yanked as Feliciana grabbed my hand to observe my finger, her eyes wide, and her face slightly pale.

Nope.

I immediately jerked my hand away, causing my sister to stumble slightly, her eyes still wide as she stared at me. I still had that creepy-as-fuck smile plastered on my lips as I stared her down, never leaving my eyes from her flawless face.

"I'M FINE! IT'S JUST A FUCKING BURN! PLUS, GOD CAN HEAL IT! ALL WE NEED IS GOD! AND JESUS! AND THE ARCHANGELS! AND CELIBACY!"

With that, I turned on my heel and made toward the stairs, ignoring the gobsmacked expressions that I am one hundred percent positive that the two were both giving me.

My hands were shaking uncontrollably as my face crumpled, the tears starting to spill down my eyes once again. I held my breath to prevent myself from sobbing, and my chest was literally on fire.

My emotional distress levels were so high that I didn't even realize the throbbing of my finger (which by the way, looked disgusting as crap already).

Finally, I reached my room, slamming the door shut behind me, and crumpling to the floor. I covered my mouth as the tears streamed down my face. My mind was an emotional whirlwind of utter bullshitted brokenness, and my already swollen eyes were puffing up even more.

To top it all off, my finger was now a blistered mess.

In fact, I could see two large blisters leering at me through my blurred vision.

I will now name them Mistress Ugly, and Sir Uglyton.

And they will be my new best friends. And we will sit in this room, huddled in a corner, unloved and unwanted, while Feliciana and Antonio go skipping off into that damned sunset.

Oh well. At least God loves me.

I hope.

He does want me to be a nun after all.


	5. The Crappiness Sucks

Gilbert Beilschmidt was never one to really care about others' relationships. Hell, he never even bothered to bat an eyelash. He would make his sexual comments, tease for a bit, and then just back off. Especially when it came to his two best friends: Francis and Antonio. The trio has had a number of flings throughout their many years of existence before, but each only ever had one, MAYBE two serious relationships.

Except for Gilbert, of course. His heart belonged to Elizaveta, and ONLY Elizaveta. He wasn't COMPLETELY stupid; he knew that hell would freeze over before she would ever yearn for him. But the albino never gave up. He wanted her to realize that he'd been there all along. That even though they were rivals, he could never bring himself to hurt her, that he bandaged her wounds without a word, that he was the first one to realize that she was a girl, that he willingly backed away when she said that her heart belonged to Roderich.

But whatever. The day would come. SOME day.

In the future.

A few couple centuries.

Or millenniums.

Good thing they were technically immortal.

Even though the albino never questioned his best friends' relationships, he couldn't help but do a double take when he heard that Antonio was dating Feliciana Vargas. There wasn't necessarily anything wrong with the couple; hell, they seemed like a pretty damn good match if you looked at it from the surface.

Gilbert can recall that Antonio has only been in ONE serious relationship before, and that was with Bella. He _loved _her to death. In fact, the Prussian had never seen someone so in love before. It was to the point where Antonio was talking marriage. It all seemed perfect after all; Antonio and Bella living together, the two of them both taking care of Lovina, as if she was their daughter.

Picture perfect family.

But that was a long time ago. Gilbert never really understood why the relationship ended in the first place; he just remembered that things were pretty damn dismal, that he had never seen his Spanish friend so upset, so hurt. To this day, there are still some deep scars remaining between both Antonio and Bella. But for the most part, they're great friends.

But NOW, Antonio was with Feliciana Vargas.

They've been going out for about a month, and things are looking pretty damn serious.

But Gilbert couldn't help but see a few flaws in this whole ordeal. Mind you, this probably was none of his business, and to even put this much thought into such petty matters, such as relationships, was a bit shameful… however, the albino couldn't stop thinking.

He knew that his little brother, Ludwig, was head over heels in love with the Northern Italian girl. He had been for a long time, even if the stoic German didn't want to admit it. And Gilbert, being the overprotective, older brother that he was, didn't like to see how hurt his brother was, no matter how much Ludwig tried to hide it.

Even a nation experiences heartbreak.

Gilbert would know, and he didn't like his brother going through the same thing. He deserved better than that.

Then there was the other thing. The thing that was really of no importance to the Prussian, yet he couldn't help but pick up on it and observe.

After seeing how broken Antonio was after his relationship with Bella ended, Gilbert was almost sure that there would never be another woman. Ever.

That was… until Lovina Vargas went through puberty and then grew up to be the stunning piece of ass that she is today.

Sure, Antonio had always seen her as his henchman, someone he adored so much, cared about so much…even if in a more in a familial way, but she was the only other woman that played a large part in the Spaniard's life. Surely, as time went by… there _has _to be something more there, right?

Gilbert knew that Antonio would die for the bitchy Southern Italian. He would give up anything for the sake of her safety and happiness. And even if she didn't want to admit it, the albino knew that Lovina would do the same for him.

The Prussian had always assumed that it would be Antonio and Lovina in the end. In fact, he was absolutely _sure _of it. He believed that they were meant for each other, that they _belonged _together.

And then…out of the blue, without a single warning, Antonio is in a happy, serious relationship with her sister. It just doesn't seem right. At all. Hell, even Francis received whiplash from the sudden turn of events.

Again, all of this was none of his business. It really wasn't.

However, he was the awesome Prussia.

And the awesome Prussia _had _to say _something. _

"Kesesese, nobody in the world has better alcohol tolerance than THE AWESOME PRUSSIA!" Gilbert announced as he slammed two bottles of beer on the table, gesturing for Antonio to take it. The Spaniard wasn't really one to drink German beer, but he figured that he may as well since it was sitting blatantly under his nose.

Chuckling, Antonio opened the bottle and took a healthy swig, grimacing slightly. "I don't know about that, mi amigo, I think that I could beat you at your own game."

Gilbert smirked as he downed half the bottle in one gulp. "I normally would never back down from a challenge, but I don't think West would appreciate me coming home drunk."

"Si, and it's still too early to drink that much; Feli wouldn't be too appreciative of it, and Lovi would probably put all of the furniture in the hallway just to see me trip," Antonio answered with a slight chuckle, his green eyes twinkling as he took another generous gulp.

Gilbert cleared his throat slightly, resting his elbows on the table, subtly raising an eyebrow. "So how are you and Feli? Awesome, I hope?"

The Spaniard nodded vigorously. "Si, si! We are doing great! She is absolutely amazing. In fact, I don't think I've ever been more invested in anyone before."

The albino raised in eyebrow skeptically. "That's a lot, coming from you, _mein freund._ Is it really that serious?"

"I know that it's only been a month, but with Feliciana… it's different. I always feel so happy when I see her, and I feel like I can never get tired of her," he stated, a bright smile gracing his lips. "But I'm not going to go into those kinds of details with you. Or Francis."

"Is what you have with Feliciana comparable to what you had with Bella?"

Antonio choked slightly on his drink, his cheeks going slightly pink as a subtly pained expression passed over his features. With a grim smile, he said, "Let's not bring her up, si?"

Gilbert smirked slightly. "And why not? It was a long time ago, _ja_?"

"I would just prefer not to talk about it," Antonio responded with a nervous laugh, looking uneasily at the table.

Alright, so a change in tactics was needed.

The Prussian finished off his bottle and took a deep contented breath, studying his friend. "Why Feliciana Vargas? There are plenty of other beautiful women out there that I'm sure would love to be with you."

*cough* Lovina *cough*

Antonio rose an eyebrow skeptically at his friend. "Que? Are you implying something here? Why would I want another woman when I have Feliciana? She and I are very happy together. I don't want another woman."

Gilbert couldn't help but twitch slightly at his friend's response. Again, he knew that this was none of his business. But _why Feliciana? _Of all the women, he had to pick the cheery, flamboyant Italian who not only stole the heart of his brother, but happens to be the sister of Lovina Vargas, who, at this point, Gilbert was convinced belonged with Antonio.

Yes, it all seemed ridiculous. After all, the Prussian wasn't one to play matchmaker.

But he was _sure _that Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and Lovina Vargas were meant to be.

Of course, he'd never admit this out loud to anyone.

He couldn't ruin his awesome reputation by making people believe that he was some relationship-obsessed cupid.

Smirking, Gilbert patted his friend on the back. "Why not have more women in your life, _mein freund_? It's healthy to have a bit of fun before settling down and committing to a relationship. I'm not sure if you are even ready for this."

Antonio laughed heartily. "The only women I need in my life are Feli and Lovi. I would do absolutely anything for them, and that will never change."

"I see." Another smirk graced Gilbert's lips as he crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. "Who matters more to you? Feliciana or Lovina?"

"Que? Why would you ask such a question like that? I love them both the same amount, just in different ways," the Spaniard answered, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at Gilbert in slight exasperation.

"Say that both of them were on the brink of death, and you had a choice to save _one _of them. Who would you choose?" the Prussian pressed, determined to get an answer out of his friend, the smirk on his lips still prevalent.

"Wh…I…well…n-no! That is a ridiculous thing to even think about, mi amigo," Antonio responded, his green eyes large and glittering as he stared at Gilbert incredulously. His fingers were tightening around the bottle, and the Prussian knew that he had thoroughly startled him.

Gilbert stood up, shrugged in a nonchalant manner, and said, "It was just a question. No need for your vaginal walls to spasm."

"Well…er…" the Spaniard looked away uneasily. "I don't like questions like that; so, if you don't mind, would you please not ask them?"

"Alright, _mein freund." _

The Prussian turned his back and started to walk off, his eyes glinting, his lips tilted up in a smile as he made his way toward the staircase.

"Eh…where are you going?"

"I need to use the restroom; I'll be right back, and we can have another round, ja?" Gilbert said, waving a hand carelessly over his shoulder as he continued to make his way up the stairs.

There was a strange beat of silence before Antonio's voice broke through it.

"Lovi."

"Huh?" Gilbert turned around at the foot of the staircase, looking back at his friend, who was sitting there, his eyes trained on the bottle that he gripped in his hands.

"Your question… to be honest, it would be Lovi. It's just… she's mi poco tomate, and she's always been there for me just as I have been for her, and I love her, and as much as I love Feliciana, nobody could replace mi Lovi."

The way he said it; it honestly startled the albino. Even though his answer was rushed, it was extremely sincere. Truthful. Passionate. Even though Gilbert knew that his Spanish friend cared a lot for his henchman, he underestimated the bond between them.

"I see," he answered with a smirk. "That's enlightening. I'll be right back."

Gilbert turned away from Antonio and continued to make his way up the stairs. In all honesty, the Prussian had no intention whatsoever to go to the bathroom.

Again, this really was none of his business. But well, he was the awesome Prussia. He was allowed to meddle in certain matters. It should be expected, anyways.

Passing by the bathroom, he continued to the room at the end of the hall, his smile widening as he realized that the door was propped open. He had only ever been in this room a few times before; in fact, he was _lucky _to even step foot in this room once and not have his ass kicked. After all, Lovina Vargas was a very feisty, formidable woman. As far as he was concerned, the girl didn't necessarily like he or his brother. At all.

Ah well; he'd take his chances.

He paused in the doorway, looking at the scene before him. The room definitely wasn't clean. There was shit everywhere; boxes, clothes, other questionable objects… the bed was even worse. In fact, he couldn't even make out the sheets or pillows. He always knew that the Southern Italian wasn't the cleanest person… especially compared to her pristine sister.

On top of the monstrous pile was Lovina Vargas, herself. Her head was propped up by what looked like a pile of clothing. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly parted, her hands limp at her sides, and her dark brown hair sprawled around her face like a strange halo. Gilbert had to admit that even though Feliciana was far more pleasant to be around, he had always found the Southern Italian to be far more attractive.

In fact, if he wasn't in love with Elizaveta, he probably would've tried to pursue Lovina a long time ago.

He had to play this cautiously; he knew that Lovina wouldn't take his presence to kindly. Especially in her room.

With a sharp sigh, Gilbert made his way forward, carefully approaching the edge of the bed. With another smirk, he carefully reached out and prodded the Italian in the cheek.

Her reaction was immediate. Her limbs started to flail, and with a sharp intake of breath, her hazel eyes shot open, staring straight into his crimson ones with bewilderment. Her face started to crumple into a bitter snarl, but Gilbert immediately shot out a hand, covering her mouth.

"Kesesese, don't freak out. I just want to talk to you," he said quietly, his lips sporting the default, devious smirk.

"MMMMPPHHHHHMMFFHHHHH…" she grumbled against his hand, her eyes narrowed in fury, and her limbs still flailing.

"Now, if I let go of your…OW! _Mein Gott! _Please don't tell me that you just bit me," he deadpanned in irritation, pulling his hand away and examining it. Yes, that would leave a mark. Especially against his deathly pale skin.

"_What the fuck are you doing here, you fucking potato bastard?"_ Lovina snapped, balling her fists and crouching into a defensive position.

"Shhh…quiet _down!" _

"Get out."

"Come on now…"

"GET OUT!"

"SHHHH! Shut up! I seriously need to talk to you. We can either do this the easy way, or the hard wa—"

"FUCKING LITTLE ALBINO ASS-LICKER…MMMPH!"

He covered her mouth again, an irritated expression present on his face as his crimson eyes narrowed at the Italian. For extra measure, he used his other hand to pull her hair, forcing her head back a bit. "Now just listen to me. This is about Antonio."

"MMMPHHHHHHHJJH"

"Shhh! Shut it! It's painfully obvious that you are in love with him."

He grinned. Mission accomplished. Her flailing died down, her eyes widening, and her limbs going rather limp as she stared straight into his crimson-colored eyes. With one more look over his shoulder to make sure that Antonio wasn't making his way up the stairs, he continued to talk, lowering his voice considerably.

"Ja. You can't hide your little charade from the awesome Prussia, now can you? Kesesese."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, but he continued nevertheless.

"You see, _mein bruder _hates this whole matter as much as you do. I think that we all know by now that Ludwig is head over asshole in love with your _schwester." _

With one warning glare at Lovina, Gilbert slowly let go of her mouth. Thankfully, she didn't start yelling. However, that didn't mean she wasn't giving him the nastiest looks in the history of all nasty looks.

"So? Why the fucking hell should I care about what your dickhead brother feels? It's not like he's good enough for _sorella _anyways."

"Oh?" The Albino rose an eyebrow. "And Antonio is? Do you want them to be together?"

He could easily spot the blush that started to dust the Italian's tan cheeks as she looked away. "That is none of your fucking concern. Now get the fuck out of my room."

He chuckled slightly as he crossed his arms. "Now, now. Let's play nicely here, _hübsche Mädchen._ I'm trying to help you out here."

Lovina scoffed, her eyes flashing as she sat up and jabbed a finger at his chest, her lips curled in a snarl. "What the fuck is in it for you? Answer me that, bastardo."

"You see… I am a very protective older brother. I don't particularly enjoy seeing _mein bruder _as upset as he is over this. He is in love with Feliciana, and so I am determined to get her out of this relationship," he answered with a light shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

The Italian stared at him flatly. "So you are willing to break a perfectly happy couple up for your brother? He's a fucking big boy. If he's so in love with her, then why can't he do the fucking dirty work, himself?" She spat slightly. "This is absolutely _pathetic."_

"Ludwig has too much pride to do anything. He's seen how happy Feliciana looks; he's not the type of man to go out and do shit for himself."

"And you are?"

"Ja. Of course I am."

"Again. _Pathetic."_

"Hmmm… I don't think so. In fact, I believe you'll be thanking me."

"Why the fuck would I be thanking you?"

Lovina's glare was dangerous, her eyes fixed on the albino, who seemed to be getting closer and closer to her. However, she was too caught up in her rage to fully comprehend his subtle movements.

He smirked. "I really am too awesome to be dealing with this bullshit, but I believe that a few things need to be sorted out. You see, people aren't where they're supposed to be right now, and since everybody is too fucking stubborn and unawesome to fix it, I believe that it's time to take matters into my own hands."

Before the Italian could protest, Gilbert climbed onto the bed, his legs straddling her waist, and both of his hands pinning her wrists down onto the bed. The look on the Italian's face was priceless. Her eyes were wide wish shock, her face was beet red, and her mouth was slightly parted. She looked like she wanted nothing more than to scream a mother-load of profanities at him, but she was rendered speechless. Lovina remained absolutely still, her breathing heavy as she glared silently up at the smirking Prussian.

"W-What the motherfucking—"

"I'm taking care of business."

"_What?" _

Gilbert felt the presence of someone at the doorway, and with a crooked smile, he leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against Lovina's. She relented with a slight squeak, but was too in shock to protest. Her lips were extremely soft, and to be honest… quite delicious. Gilbert had to admit that the bitch was quite delectable.

Before she could fully respond, he broke the kiss and got off of the bed with a fluid grace that only the awesome Prussia could achieve.

And there, standing in the doorway, was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, his eyes as wide as saucers, his lips pressed tight together, and his fingers clenching the door frame a bit too harshly to be natural.

Mission accomplished.

Gilbert looked back at Lovina, inwardly chuckling to see that she was staring at him in frazzled shock, her brown locks slightly mussed, and her cheeks endearingly red. Totally fuckable.

He gave her a wink. "My house. Tonight at eight. Don't be late."

She just continued to stare at him, her jaw completely slack.

He glanced back at Antonio, and chuckled slightly to see that his disbelieving stare was directed at him.

He knew that this whole thing was far from over, and due to the oblivious nature of the Spaniard, it would definitely be a while.

But that ought to give Antonio the proper push that needs.

After giving his friend a casual pat on the shoulder, Gilbert sauntered away from the scene. A beer sounded nice. And he would be awaiting Lovina's arrival in a few hours.

This really was none of his business.

But then again, he was fucking Prussia.

And he was awesome.

Therefore, all other arguments were invalid.


	6. The Crappiness Scarrs

…..MIND. FUCK.

No. Seriously.

Actually, that wasn't even a mind fuck. That was a fucking MIND ANNIHALATION.

What the hell just happened?

Did he really… and did I seriously… and Antonio…he….

Nyaaaaaa…..

I don't even know.

Alright. Calm down, Lovina. Just take a deep breath and ignore the fact that your shared a kiss with the albino potato bastard on your bed, and that it was actually pretty nice, and that the tomato bastard, himself, witnessed the whole thing…SHIT!

And now, here I am, sitting on my bed, my hair a mess, my jaw hanging open like a fucking idiot, and there, at my doorway, is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

And let me tell you something, dearies.

He didn't look very happy. Nope. Not one bit.

His green eyes were expressionless, his jaw was rigid, and he was gripping the doorframe in a way that suggested that he was ready for cold-blooded murder.

Okay.

So, what the hell am I supposed to do?

Now would be a good time for some help, peoples.

….Nothing?

I always knew you were all judgmental jerks.

Fuck you.

Gulping, I immediately looked away from Antonio, my gaze averting toward the window as I nervously ran my fingers through my hair, fruitlessly trying to get rid of the tangles. My stomach was in knots and my face felt like it was on fucking fire.

Clearing my throat, I decided to break the painful silence. "Are you just going to stand there all day, idiota? You're creeping me out."

I cannot even fathom how pathetic I sounded, especially compared to the sullen silence emitted by the pissy Spaniard.

"…Lovi?"

His voice was dangerously soft; way to damn soft for my liking. I looked up at him, my mouth slightly parted as I searched for the right words to say. Anything… _anything _would suffice, si? Oh Dio, why do I have a feeling that this whole shitapalooza wasn't going to end any time soon?

After what seemed like millenniums of mindless choking on words I could've vocalize if I wanted to, I decided to settle for one, angry sounding, phrase.

"_What?"_

The short, tense beat of silence that followed was unbearable. I felt like I was choking. I don't even know why I should fucking care about this shit in the first place. It's not like I needed the bastard's permission on whether or not I could kiss someone or not.

Nevertheless, I still felt like a deer in the headlights.

"… What the holy hell was that?" he asked. There was no mistaking the incredulous bitterness in his voice. I was actually shocked by how angry he sounded to be honest.

Balling my fists, I narrowed my eyes at him and spat back, "What the fucking shitballs did you think it was, you dumbass? You witnessed a kiss. Shield you virgin eyes."

Antonio's eyes flashed dangerously and I immediately had the urge to recoil. Damn, he really was pissed. Like…really pissed. Maybe I should watch what I sa—NO. I am Lovina Vargas. And I am an adult. Hell, I have a right to do what I want, when I want, wherever I want. Okay, so I didn't necessarily want to _kiss _the albino bastard, but hell, it happened. Plus, it wasn't even that bad… in fact, it was a pretty damn good kiss.

"Are you …are you seeing him, Roma?" he asked. I shuddered softly at the sound of his voice, my throat going dry.

No, of course I wasn't! Why would I _ever _date Gilbert Beilschmidt? He is an insufferable, holier-than-thou, self-proclaimed asshole. Five meters? Please. More like five centimeters. Not that I'd know or anything.

I opened my mouth to say so, but I paused.

What if I didn't _want _to disclaim it? Maybe it would work to my advantage to tell Antonio that yes, I am, in fact, going out with Gilbert Beilschmidt. Hell, it sure would create an interesting twist on things. My mind raced frantically; what the hell was I supposed to do? Disclaim or confirm?

However, I also realized something else.

The bastard was up to something.

I didn't know what the fuck was going on in that twisted brain of his, but I knew that he didn't just do what he did for shits n'giggles.

He had told me to meet him at his house at eight. What was he up to?

To be honest, I was extremely curious. Hell, wouldn't you be to?

So, I went with my instinct.

Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself for the worst. Looking Antonio straight in the eye, I spoke, careful to keep my voice rigid and clear.

"Si, Antonio. I am seeing Gilbert."

The silence deafened me. Jesus Christ, how many fucking beats of silence have there been now? I couldn't handle it. I looked down at my hands, careful to avoid Antonio's searing glare. I could literally feel the fire spilling from his eyes. And Gesu…was it fucking hot. I could feel the heat waves consume my skin.

"I see," he responded, his voice still coated with that dangerous shit that smelt of pissoffery. "How long?"

"What?"

"You heard me, Lovina. How long?"

I scoffed. "Why does it even matter? You're not the boss of me!"

"Lovina Vargas, how long have you been seeing Gilbert? I have a right to know!"

Oh hot damn, he was getting angrier by the second.

"I don't have fucking time for this bullshit. I'm leaving," I growled at him, pushing myself up from the bed and making for the door, intending to shove Antonio as I made my way out. However, as I approached the door, I was blocked by the idiot's arm as he shot it straight across to the other side of the door frame, blocking any chance I had of an easy escape.

"You're not leaving."

"And why the fuck not?"

"Because I said so."

"What. The. Fucking. Fuckity. FUCK?" I burst out, my voice shrill as I threw my hands up in the air. "Antonio Fernandez Carriedo! I am a fucking adult, and I can go wherever the _fuck _I want, alright? You have no right to tell me what I can, or what I can do, and if you ever EVER pull this bullshit on me again, I will take a pistol and blast your fucking, puny brain out so that it splatters all over the wall. Get it? Got it? GOOD!"

I don't know where this fiery rage was coming from.

Okay, don't pull that on me.

I know I'm always angry.

Shut up.

But this was abnormal.

Maybe it was all that frustration over the fact that he JUST DOESN'T GET IT!

HE DOESN'T GET THE FACT THAT I AM IN FUCKING LOVE WITH HIM!

I cannot fathom how he could totally miss the fact that I was giving him googly eyes, and go for my stupid-ass sister instead.

So, you know what? I am going to play with fire.

Pissing him off will feel great. Euphoric. ORGASMIC!

…Okay, maybe that's a little overboard, but STILL! It will be damn satisfying!

"I asked you a question, Lovi," he responded, his tone softening slightly, yet still quite dangerous. His body didn't move an inch.

I could try and take him down, but judging by the fact that I was quite a bit lighter than him, and that I had to crane my neck to look up into his face… yeah, no. I couldn't do much damage. If only I had my gun with me. Seriously.

"And I am telling you to get the fuck out of my way."

"Roma, just…" he gave a frustrated sigh. "Just… I don't…"

I crossed my arms. This was interesting.

I could see that he was getting more and more agitated about something. He let go of the door frame and ran his hand through his dark hair hastily, his muscles tensing as his green eyes avoided mine.

"Spit it out," I snapped.

"I just…I don't think I like this. You and Gilbert."

Oh.

Wow.

Alright then.

Too bad.

"And I should care, why?" I continued, my curiosity further piquing.

Yes, he was probably just being an over-protective, authority-like figure who was weirded out over the idea of his henchman/sisterly-like-figure/little-tomato going out with best friend. But still.

"Dios mio, Lovi, it's just too strange. Gilbert is mi amigo, and you…you are…"

I watched him with my default flat glare as he struggled to find the right words, using his hands to motion towards me exasperatedly.

I am what, huh? That's what I'd like to know.

Too mean? Too bitchy? Too sensitive?

Come on, tomato bastard, finish your damn sentences like a grown up.

"Too _young."_

….

….

….

…Wow.

Fuck him.

FUCK him to hell and back.

He says that I'm too young, yet he's dating my _younger _sister?

That's just so fucking cool; I'm shitting myself with how cool this whole thing is. Because that's just the way I work.

Right. And how old are you, old man? I don't care if "dat ass" is still tight, and that one small wink can give me a nosebleed. You're still OLD. OOOOLLLLLLDDDDDD!

And how can he have the nerve to tell me that I'm "too young" in the first place? I am South Italy. I've been around longer than Feliciana; hell, I was around when Grandpa Rome was around. Yes, I may have been very young, and yes, I do have superiors, but I'm NOT a child. Alfred is a child. Michelle is child. Fucking hell, LILI is a child.

How can he be such a damn IDIOT?

Oh wait. We're talking about Spagna, here; aren't we?

So, instead of trying to justify my cause, I stared at him with cold calculating eyes, praying that my fiery wrath would turn him into a pile of ashes.

Alright, so that didn't work, but he definitely seemed to back off a bit.

"Fuck you, Antonio. Get the hell out of my way," I deadpanned.

"Lovi…" he started, his voice slightly cautious. I was still blocked by his scrumptious, beauti—STUPID, tan arm. And let me tell you… that didn't help my temper. At all.

"I said, get OUT OF MY WAY," I screamed, the anger bubbling within me, swirling in a huge-ass cauldron. It was overflowing, and I couldn't take it anymore. With a violent shove, I managed to push the idiot out of the way, causing him to yelp slightly as he stumbled. Without another look, I marched into the hallway, my limbs shaking uncontrollably.

"Lovina Vargas!"

His voice was sharp, coated with that parental, authoritative tone that I've always hated, that tone that he had always used with me.

"SHUT UP!" I growled, my voice echoing through the hallway as I continued down the hallway, finally making my way to the foot stairs. My legs were shaking from a mixture of fury and devastation, and with one last blind glance over my shoulder, I broke into a clumsy sprint, my limbs flailing as I made my way down those _extremely _smooth, and totally _not _narrow steps, all with the grace of a swan.

Before the bastard could start spouting his bullshit again, I swung the front door open, literally dove out of the house, and slammed it shut behind me.

…Shit.

Well, as I said before, that was unexpected.

Look, I didn't plan for Beilschmidt to come swooping in, saying all this crapola about me loving Antonio, and then simultaneously pinning me to my bed and kissing me while the tomato head was watching.

I guess this is where the real shit-storm begins.

XX

Don't judge me.

We all know that according to the Holy Bible, and the Vatican, that judging is God's job. Gesu Cristo, how many times do I have to remind you of that?

Anyways, so I did go to Gilbert's house.

Now, if my past self were to look at this situation, there would be a few problems. One, she would berate me for loving Antonio in the first place. Two, she would kick my ass for actually wanting to play this little game that the albino bastard had forced upon me. Three, she would annihilate me if she found out that I was going to his house, alone, just as the sun was going down.

Holy shit, Elizaveta better not be around here somewhere with that fucking camera of hers. I'd be in some deep shit.

With one last look over my shoulder, a myriad of curse words tumbled out of my mouth as I knocked…no, slammed my fist against the door.

One second passed. Two seconds passed.

HOLY SHIT, HE SURE LIKES TO TAKE HIS FUCKING SWEET TIME, NOW DOESN'T HE?

Just as the sun dipped down over the horizon (which happened quite quickly may I add), the door swung open to reveal a grinning albino, his red eyes flashing deviously. I couldn't help but gulp in fear as I heard him chuckle.

"Kesesese, so you actually did show up. I was starting to think that you wouldn't take my bullshit," he mused, stepping aside, allowing me access into the house.

With a scowl, I looked straight into those red eyes, challenging him.

"I'm not taking any of your bullshit. I'm here to know why you decided that it would be a good idea to fucking kiss me," I snapped as I walked past him and into the house, which I realized was quite dark. None of the lights were on. That did not help my paranoia levels.

"Right, whatever you say," he teased before closing the door. I knew that he was observing me, taking me in from head to toe in this darkness. Yet, I didn't dare turn around. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. For some reason, I felt that this was fragile territory I was treading in.

When has Gilbert Beilschmidt ever been one to trust? What if he starts playing weird-ass mind games on me?

Hell, I would just pull out a few threats of my own, goddammit!

I'm South Italy. I'm not some pussy-ass, squealing sissy that blushes and cries every two seconds.

"Let's make this quick," I spat. "What exactly do you want?"

After a beat of silence, I heard his chuckle once more, followed by a series of steady, approaching footsteps. "This is _mein bruder's _house, Vargas, and he could be home at any time. I think it would be safer if we went down to the basement. He can't disturb us there."

… The basement?

THE BASEMENT?

HELL FUCKING NO!

FUCKING…SHIT…BITCH…SPAZZ!

Whirling around, I glared up at him, slightly overwhelmed by the height difference. Yes, he wasn't the tallest man in the world; in fact, I'm one hundred percent sure that Antonio may be a bit taller. However, thanks to that sleazy, mischievous smile on his face, I felt extremely small in comparison.

"I am NOT going into a basement with you, you perverted bastard!"

I knew that my nostrils were doing that unattractive flare thing, and that my face was probably as red as a…

Oh God, please shoot me. I was about to say a tomato. A fucking tomato.

"Don't flatter yourself," he droned, waving his hand at me nonchalantly. "I'm not going to fuck if you if that's what you're worried about. I prefer girls who don't bitch every two seconds."

I don't know whether I should be relieved or insulted.

So I just kept my mouth shut.

"Plus, my basement isn't a very fuck-friendly place. Buuut…" his eyes flashed once again, a smirk forming on his lips. "If you're that desperate to have a piece of the awesome me…"

"No," I deadpanned before he could even finish that disgusting thought. Ugh. Shudder. Seriously. Why do I always get stuck dealing with the crazies?

"So quick to refuse." Raising an eyebrow, he crossed his arms, his eyes trailing up and down my body. Seriously. Do albinos have X-ray vision or something? "Kesese, whatever. I want to talk to you about something else, anyways, as you probably already know."

With that, he brushed past me, not once looking in my direction. I stood there, frozen for a moment, watching his silhouette disappear into the shadows. Shit, was it really that dark outside?

"Goddamit, of all the people…" I followed after him, my muscles tense.

The house itself, was spotless. Then again, this _was _the blonde potato bastard's house. From what I've heard from sorella, he has a serious case of buttfucking OCD.

In all honesty, it was too clean. It sort of scared me. Sort of like sterile white walls in a doctor's office. With those creepy nurses. And shots. And other weird-ass implements that can be turned into instruments of kinky sub-dom action.

... Please, don't ask.

But what really shocked me was the fact that the basement was clean as shit also. Huh…I never thought that the albino freak would be so damn neat. Immediately, the thought of Beilschmidt prancing around in a maid's dress with a feather duster came to mind.

Mental slap.

And I don't even read Japan's manga!

Anyway, as I was saying.

I have to admit that the basement did look rather cozy once he managed to switch the light on. The room was fairly small and compacted, with white walls, a white ceiling, and a carpeted floor. The twin-sized bed was pressed against the wall, along with a small bedside table, which had nothing upon it but a small lamp, an alarm clock, and a…a… rosary?

Oh. Right.

Albino freak was a priest once, wasn't he?

Mind fuck all over again.

"So, my dear _Lovi," _Gilbert mused with a mocking tone, his eyes flashing as he took a seat on his bed. With a small smirk, he patted the vacant spot next to him.

The nerve of him.

Like HELL I'm going to be sitting anywhere near him.

I'm perfectly content right where I am, thank you very much.

Crossing my arms, I sent him a wordless glare to indicate my preference, only to receive a small chuckle in return. Running a hand through his hair, he shook his head slightly. "Calm the fuck down; I've already told you that I'm not going to try anything."

"So? Does that mean I want to sit next to you?" I snapped back through gritted teeth. I felt more and more uneasy as the seconds passed. It's just that…that… I was in a small, compacted room. Alone. With Gilbert Beilschmidt.

That goes against every single personal philosophy that I have taught myself to embrace.

With a snort, he shrugged before repositioning himself so that he was lying properly on his bed, his arms behind his back, the smirk still playing on his lips as he let his eyes flutter shut.

"Kesesese, alright. Let's get down to business, then. You love Antonio—"

"I DO NOT!"

"Ja, you do."

"THE FUCK—"

"You want to fuck him."

My face flushed. When the hell did it get so damn hot here?

"You are disgusting."

"Nein, I am awesome."

"Fucking dipshit."

"Stupid bitch."

"Miserable dumbass."

"Go out with me."

"Fu—What?"

My mind instantly went blank. I'm actually sure that my face literally melted off. My jaw dropped…literally dropped to the floor as I stared at him.

Did he seriously just ask me to… to…

No.

Absolutely not.

Si, I told Antonio that I was dating him. Hell, this bastard KISSED me earlier today. No, he didn't just kiss me. He pinned me to the fucking bed and planted one on me.

But still. To actually date him? No. The thought makes me want to kill babies. And that's saying something. Because I actually think that babies are quite cute.

With another laugh, Gilbert opened his eyes, those crimson orbs fixated on me. I gulped, feeling my palms go sweaty.

Oh, Gesu Cristo.

Get me the FUCK out of here. Now.

I can't handle this.

Too much for me to handle!

And do you understand why this is as sad as it is?

Because I am South Italy. And I have faced fights, bombs, war, combat, death, depression, tragedy…

And yet, here I am, freaking out like some stupid-ass, spoiled whore over some white-haired, ex-priest!

AN EX-PRIEST!

WHERE IS THE FUCKING LOGIC IN THAT?

"Go out with me," he repeated, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Gilbert sat up, stretching out his limbs slightly before running another hand through his disheveled hair. "You want Toni, ja? Then go out with me. Make him jealous."

I just continued to stare at him. However, I must admit that some of the tension in my muscles ceased. So he didn't actually want to go out with me because he was interested in me, but because he wanted to…

Help me?

…There is still something wrong with that.

"What's in it for you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him, trying to catch any fluctuation in his facial expression, his body language, his…everything.

With a shrug, he stood up and dusted off the front of his shirt. "That's my own business; I'd prefer not to talk about it."

I wanted so badly to scream at him, to demand to know what the hell was on his mind. But I kept my mouth closed. Instead, I just gave him one of my nastiest glares, hoping that he would start burning internally.

Yes. I know. Fat chance.

"Fine. Let's say that I…_agree _to this bullshit," I started, making sure that I sounded as bitterly cautious as possible. I looked away from him, glaring at the opposite wall, my muscles aching from standing so still. "We would only act like a real couple in public, si? We wouldn't have to do any of that…that…stuff, right?"

I couldn't help the heat that seemed to molest my face as I spoke those words. With a small shudder, I made sure to keep my eyes fixed anywhere but him. The only person I had every really thought about doing any of that _stuff _to was Antonio.

But now, he was doing that _stuff _with my perfect, prettier younger sister.

She's the one that gets to run her hands through those messy dark locks, to revel in the sensation of being in his strong arms, to kiss those beautiful lips of hi—

I need to stop.

Plus, why the hell would I ask something like that in the first place? Of course we wouldn't have to do any of that! We were PRETEND dating. We weren't actually going out.

"Kesesese, nein. We won't be having awesome, kinky sex anytime soon…" he responded.

However, before I could feel any sense of relief, I felt my breath leave my lungs in a swift manner as my back slammed against the white wall.

Before I knew it, I was looking up into the red eyes of Gilbert Beilschmidt. My throat went dry as I stared at his smirking lips, those lips that had actually kissed mine earlier today. My whole body went numb as I cowered under him, realizing that both of his hands were pressed against the wall on either side of my head, trapping me.

"Unless, you want to, of course. I really have no objections against it," he said, his voice low… just above a whisper.

….Holy. Mother. Fucking. Shit. Sauce.

I was speechless. And trembling.

I've never had this sort of _dominating _figure this close to me before, someone who could shamelessly pin me to a wall and tell me that he is completely open to the idea of sex.

I don't even know how to feel right now.

I knew that my skin was as red as fucking spaghetti sauce, that was for sure…given the fact that the temperature in the room magically raised to about six thousand degrees. CELSIUS.

I opened and closed my mouth wordlessly, unable to formulate coherent words.

I.

Am.

Such.

A.

VIRGIN.

"Ah, I see," he spoke, the smirk on his lips widening. If that was possible. "You're not used to being this close to another man, now, are you?"

MEEEPPP.

Okay. Calm down, Lovina. Just calm down. Try and regain your lost dignity here. You are South Italy. You are the mafia. You are a GODDESS.

And you are going to heaven because of all of the sacrifices you have made in this life.

With another small chuckle, he slowly let his hands slide down the wall before withdrawing them, placing them back at his sides. I watched as he slowly backed away a few steps, still looking at me with that wicked glimmer in his eye.

"This will be more entertaining than I thought," he mused, raising an eyebrow. He never took his eyes off of me.

And I never opened my mouth once.

"Well, well, then." He placed both of his hands in his pockets. I could hear the devious laughter in his words.

"Let the games begin."


	7. The Crappiness Kills

You know, it's funny… so fucking funny how shit works.

I'm. A. Fucking. NATION.

Or half of one.

You know what? Screw specifics. You know what I mean.

I never would've thought that I would be dabbling in the art of TEENAGE DRAMA. I mean, seriously. I feel sorry for all of those lovely inhabitants of Sicily and Rome… those members of the mafioso… those Southern Italians that hold themselves with a sense of intense pride and nationalism.

Well, wake up call, fuckers. Your personification is a spazz who's acting like a slut just to nab the man that she is so desperate to have.

I never knew that I would stoop so low as to agree to go out with Gilbert fucking Beilschmidt, no matter how fake our little relationship will be. This is a new kind of sad. This is obsessive to the point of…gah! Shit-sickles! I don't understand myself anymore. Si, I know that I am in love with Antonio. That is a painful, stomach-punching fact. But… he's dating my sister. My own sorella. Am I that sick of a person that I would want to ruin that?

Pfft.

Of course I am.

Why did I even ask myself that?

To make myself sound more elaborate of course.

Haha.

HA.

Anyways, aside from my continuous ranting, the rest of the night was rather… explosive. I will tell you that much. I never thought that I could get into a legitimate fight with Antonio. Si, we've had our moments… but they were mostly one-sided. I was the one throwing the curses and the punches while he just stood there smiling as he patted the top of my head, telling me how cute I was.

But this. No. He was actually reciprocating the anger for once.

In any other circumstance, I would be amazed by this.

But with how he had decided to talk down to me….

FUCK HIM.

Si. That's right.

Fuck him to hell and back.

It was dusk by the time I had re-entered Toni's house. It was one of those warm nights that signified the approaching presence of summer. The crickets chirped, the stars twinkled, and the light breeze intertwined with the humid heat, creating the perfect conditions for a moonlit stroll. In all honesty, I just wanted to sleep outside. Fuck the house; I sure as hell didn't want to go inside… not with an angry Spaniard waiting to give me an earful.

But, I am Lovina Vargas. I am NOT going to be sleeping outside like a fucking dog, no matter how nice it is outside, or how much Toni is PMSing. No, I was going to face the fire, look him dead in the eye, and tell him that I am a grown woman who happened to be dating Gilbert Beilschmidt. Then, like a badass, I'll walk up the stairs, swaying my hips like a sexy motherfucker, smoke a cigarette, and go to bed.

Legit, si?

Well, there was a problem with that plan. I had underestimated two very important factors: my ability to keep my emotions in check, and Antonio's anger.

Goddamn, that anger.

It's a chain really. When Antonio's angry at me, he talks down at me with such ferocity that I can't help but gape at him like an idiot. Then, once the words register in my mind, I become furious, and scream until my damn lungs bleed.

…And that is why I am glad that this house is conveniently located in the countryside.

Alright. Enough of my rambling. Even if my rambling is informative and fucking fantastic. This is how it went.

I clenched my teeth as I opened the door to the house, thankful that I had brought a spare key with me. My head was still spinning as I thought of my little conversation with the Prussian douchebag in his basement. In all honesty, all I wanted to do was take a shower. I can only handle being in a Germanic household for so long.

However, before I could so much as take another step toward the stairs, I heard my name being called.

"Lovina?"

The voice definitely belonged to the tomato bastard, there was no mistaking that. But it was lacking its warmth. It was cold, low, and dangerous. Not only that, but Antonio NEVER calls me 'Lovina'! It's either 'Lovi' or 'Mi poco tomate' or something along those lines. Funny thing is, I bitch him out for calling me 'Lovi' or any affectionate variation, constantly berating him to call me 'Lovina.' But now, hearing him say my name in that tone, I couldn't help but cringe and wish that he would just go back to comparing me to a cute, ripe tomato. Ha…haha, good ol' days.

I blinked, my throat going dry. The voice was coming from the living room, which was only a few feet to the left from where I was standing.

I was debating here…

Go into the living room and face the storm?

…or go upstairs and hide like a bitch?

My eyes flitted back and forth between the stairs and the living room. All the while, I felt absolutely pathetic. So much for being that sexy, badass bitch who would face Toni full on. I amuse myself sometimes.

"Lovina, come here, please."

Stairs…

Living room…

Stairs…

Living room…

"Lovina?"

Stairs…

Living room…

Stairs…

Living room…

"I know you're there. Stop stalling. I need to speak with you."

Stairs…

Living room…

Stairs.

Stairs…

"Fine. I'm walking over to you right now."

Stairs.

STAIRS.

STAIRS.

STAI—

Even though I found myself a quarter of the way up the stairs, I felt a hand grip my wrist, pulling me back. I froze, my teeth clenched together as I slowly turned my head to catch sight of Antonio's livid face, his green eyes boring into mine and his lips tight.

And I hated it.

I hated how he looked more like a disappointed father than anything.

Because newsflash…he is NOT my FUCKING father.

Not everyone can play Darth Vader in this world.

"Not so fast. I understand that you must be tired, but I would like to have a word with you before you go to bed," he said in an abnormally formal voice… a voice of DOOM… and…and DEATH.

I stared at him harshly for a good moment before finally relenting. However, I did curl my lip and rip my wrist from his grip before shoving past him and pausing at the foot of the stairs, spinning around to face him, my arms crossed. I must give myself credit for playing the 'intimidation' card, despite the fact that I was quivering on the inside.

None of my limbs were shaking, I wasn't whimpering or crying, I didn't show any signs of fear… Nope! I looked like a hardcore bitch made out of metal.

Good. That's how it's supposed to be.

"Well. Shoot," I snapped curtly.

Antonio's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at my tone, but he didn't make any comment of it. Instead, he just stared at me for another moment in complete silence.

I made sure not to blink.

The one who blinks is the loser.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he opened his mouth and spoke. The words that spilled out of his mouth immediately set off a trigger in me. Holy shit, did he have the power to just /piss/ me off. Hell, I thought that my sorella pissed me off just by being herself. I thought that the Beilschmidt bastards pissed me off just because they probably masturbated with potatoes while watching some blonde, pony-tailed chick whip some guy's ass while shitting in a cup. I thought that Alfred pissed me off because everything that came out of his mouth was straight up /bull/ shit.

But no. No, no, no, no.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo pissed me off.

"I don't want you seeing Gilbert, Lovina. Understand me?"

The way he said it… with such harsh authority, as if his word were final.

HA. HAHAHAHAH. AS IF. AS FUCKING IF.

I rose an eyebrow dangerously at that.

"Excuse me?" I asked in a low voice.

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "You heard me. I know you did. I… okay, let me rephrase that. I'd _prefer _that you didn't see Gilbert, alright?"

His little 'rephrasing' didn't save him. No, not at all.

I just…stared. And stared and stared and stared, until…

"Fuck you."

The words slipped from my mouth with such ease, it felt like caramel dribbling down my chin. Now, it shouldn't be a surprise really. We all know that the words 'fuck you' are extremely common words in my extensive, articulate vocabulary. However, for some Godforsaken reason, they seemed to molest Toni's poor Catholic ears at this very moment.

Aw, poor ears.

I'll pray for you.

NOT.

"Lovina Vargas…" he warned, his eyes growing dark.

"Fuck you, Antonio. Fuck you up the ass. Fuck you in the mouth. Fuck you with a spiky, HIV-infested _strap-on. _Just… fuck you."

With each word, my voice grew and grew. I don't know where this unadulterated anger was coming from. I mean, Toni was just being a bit protective right? Sure, he had no right to tell me what to do, but he was a man of memories and nostalgia. He sometimes forgot that I wasn't that little brat who peed on the floor and bit his ankles at random intervals. He'd get over it, eventually.

But no, that's not what bothered me. What bothered me is that I love him. I love him so fucking much, and yet, here he is, dating my younger sister while treating me like a child, thinking that he has the right to tell me what to do.

I hate it. I absolutely hate it.

Why can't he just open his eyes and see me as his equal. If he can do that for Feliciana, why can't he do that for me?

I've proven myself, haven't I?

I love him.

I love him, I love him, I love him, I love him.

"Lovina Vargas. I will not tolerate being spoken to like that under my own roof, you hear me? I understand that…" he attempted. But no matter how forceful he sounded, his attempts were fruitless. Because that's when I just went off.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP. JUST…JUST SHUT UP. I AM AN ADULT, AND YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO RIGHT TO FUCKING TALK TO ME LIKE THIS," I shrieked, my face burning and my head spinning. He just doesn't get it. And he never will unless I tell him.

Which will not happen anytime soon.

For once, Antonio didn't wilt. He didn't lower his voice or come forward to try and comfort me during my fits of rage. No, instead, his swirling eyes got darker as he screamed back, his voice as loud as mine.

"NO RIGHT? YOU ARE UNDER MY ROOF! I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE A FUCKING ADULT, BUT YOU ARE IN MY HOUSE, EATING MY FOOD, SLEEPING IN ONE OF THE ROOMS THAT I HAVE SET UP SPECIFICALLY FOR _YOU. _I DESERVE SOME RESPECT HERE."

Oh. Oho. Good one.

Now, it's my turn.

Stamping my foot, I flailed my arms slightly in response, my lip curling dangerously as my nostrils flared. I know. Attractive, right? Right.

"I. DON'T. CARE! THIS… THIS ISN'T ABOUT THAT! I AM SICK AND TIRED OF YOU TREATING ME LIKE A FUCKING KID, ANTONIO. GET IT THROUGH YOUR FUCKING HEAD THAT YOU AREN'T IN CONTROL OF ME ANYMORE. I… I'M DATING GILBERT NOW, ALRIGHT? GET USED TO IT!"

The Spaniard took a few steps forward, his hand gripping the railing of the stair case, his knuckles white. Jesus Christ, he was SEETHING. Seething like some rabid animal. I have never seen him look this angry. Again, I reiterate. I've heard stories, but seeing it in action? I didn't know that he was actually capable.

And watching his anger fueled my rage.

"YOU DON'T WANT TO BE TREATED LIKE A CHILD, LOVINA? THEN STOP ACTING LIKE ONE! WHY CAN'T YOU BE MORE LIKE YOUR SISTER, HUH? AT LEAST SHE DOESN'T WHINE AND MOAN AND COMPLAIN LIKE YOU DO, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BRAT!"

I saw it. I saw the look of immediate regret pass over his face as soon as the words left his mouth. However, I could also see that he was determined to stand his ground. As was I. I wasn't going to let his little tirade break me, no matter how much of a punch those words packed.

I lowered my voice, but I could still feel the fiery venom race through my veins as I stared at this damn man that I loved so much.

"I'm not going to ask you why you didn't take Feliciana in as a child while you still had the chance. I already know that you regret raising me. This is all beside the point, Antonio," I growled, trying oh so hard to keep my voice from trembling. My eyes were already burning from the tears that wanted to spill down my cheeks. But I wouldn't let them fall. No fucking way would I let them fall. Not now at least.

I plowed forward, my fists clenched, my fingernails digging into my palms. "What were we originally arguing about? Oh, si, I remember now. How you are trying to control my love-life like some pathetic piece of shit living in the past."

Antonio wasted no time to lash back, the color draining from his face as he stared at me with a ridiculously icy expression. "I am NOT trying to control you, Lovina. I apologize for my earlier wording; I understand that I cannot tell you what to do anymore. But by all FUCKING means, forgive me for not liking the idea of my friend shoving his dick up your ass."

….

…

Wow. WOW.

How rich.

He doesn't like the idea of Gil- WOW.

HA.

AHAHAHAHAHA.

I couldn't help myself. I laughed. I laughed oh-so hard. Hell, I bet you anything that not even the powers of God and Satan combined couldn't beat the mighty glory of my laughter.

Choking slightly, I attempted to catch my breath before sending the Spaniard a cold glare, mixed with a nasty smirk. "You don't like the idea of me fucking your friend? Who says that I like the idea of my precious little sister bending on her knees so that she can lick your over-sized churro?"

To accentuate my point, I let my eyes roll back before making slurping noises, thoroughly enjoying myself at this very moment. This was so damn satisfying. Oh, sweet, sweet logic mixed with revenge. I was even tempted to push it further by doing my infamous imitation of my sister moaning due to arousal, but I decided against it.

…So you're wondering how I know what I my sister sounds like when moaning?

Well…you see… we were bored one night, conveniently wearing nothing but frilly lingerie, and we both discovered that we had a kink for incestual, lesbian sh- HA! JUST KIDDING. I got you there, didn't I?

…Okay, fine, fine. I had to undergo listening to my sister moan all night a few years ago when she and I got a bit tipsy at some New Year's party. Even though she tended to be the more "virtuous" of the sisters, she was definitely in NO way, a good little Catholic schoolgirl. Long story short, she brought back a guy, and I had no choice but to share a room with her and her little "buddy."

Let me just say that Feliciana has a very distinctive moan.

I wonder if Antonio thinks so too.

Obviously, a certain Spaniard was NOT amused. Once I opened my eyes to get a good look at him, his face was mutated in disgust. If I didn't know any better, I would've thought that he was ready to curb-stomp me right on the spot before taking a shit on my dead body.

"I asked you for permission," he said in a soft, chilling voice… hell, at this point, he could give Belarus a run for her money.

"I don't remember giving it," I replied in an equally chilling voice. Okay, so technically, I did give him permission, but… it SO doesn't count. Come on! Can this idiot really be that oblivious? A cup through the window and a tirade of curse words should give him a clue on how I felt on their little 'relationship.'

Then, before I could comprehend another thought, Antonio and I were nose to nose. I almost… ALMOST recoiled with a shriek, but I managed to hold my ground with a slight blink of an eye. However, that didn't stop the fact that my heart was pounding violently against my chest and that chills were travelling up and down my spine at a rather dangerous rate.

Fuck.

Fuck.

FUCK.

What do I do.

My brain can't process…

Me. No. Shit. Anger. Bastard. Sex. BEEEEEEEEPPPPPPP.

"I don't imagine things very often, Lovina," he said in a tender voice… though that tender voice was dangerously poisonous. "I would never date your younger sister without your permission. Unlike you, I actually have respect for my peers."

Oh, respect for my peers? I'll show you resp—GAH!

Sh—wha?

His hand…

He had grabbed a handful of my hair from the back of my head, tugging backwards slightly. I could feel his fingers clenching, the slight pressure against my scalp causing my breath to hitch dangerously.

What. The. FUCK. Was. He. Doing?

His forehead was pressed against mine, as were my rigid limbs and torso, my breasts smashed up against his body. He could probably feel my rapid heartbeat intertwine with his ragged breaths.

And his eyes… those green eyes. They were on FIRE. Yes, they were still filled with laced venom, but there was a fire there… a fire that I hadn't seen before. A fire that seemed to burn through my face.

"You know what, Lovina?" He said, still in that dangerously tender voice. "I am sick and tired of your bullshit. I don't even care anymore. Go on and fuck your little boyfriend all you want. In fact, if I were you, I would go live with him, because I am kicking you out. You have one hour to grab your crap and haul your ass out of here. I've done all that I could for you. I've raised you, I've fed you, I've given you the love that any human being deserves… and for what? This disgusting behavior? No. I want absolutely nothing to do with you and your ludicrous attitude."

With that, he released me gently, taking a few steps back, his eyes never leaving me.

"One hour, Lovina. One hour."

And, that, my friends, is how my beauteous, Shakespearean-worthy night went.

Ha.

I'll let you vote on who won that argument.


	8. The Crappiness Annihilates

Crying is for pansies and pussies.

That's why I'm not doing it now. I've done enough crying over that fucking excuse for a personification. An oblivious, airheaded personification whose green eyes are clouded with lust for my younger sister. Sick son of a bitch.

Plus, as you have just witnessed, he kicked me out. Kicked. Me. Out.

For good this time.

It's to the point where the water building up in my tear-ducts refused to spill over and travel down my cheeks. No, instead, my expression remained flat and cold as I gathered my crap and hauled my ass out of the house.

…Oh, and knocked over a few vases and other valuables on my way out. Just to be a troll.

Ha. HAHA. Suck on that, Spagna.

So, now, here I am, in the dead of night, with an overflowing bag of shit, a flat expression on my face that suggested murder, and absolutely nowhere to go.

You know, that would be an important thing to figure out, si? Where to go? I'm not up to wandering around outdoors in the dead of night with the possibility of Pyramid Head, Freddie Krueger, or Jason lurking around, wielding mass weapons of destruction, finding some sick satisfaction out of eating my insides.

But no.

Seriously.

Where do I go?

I couldn't think straight, not with this boiling rage overtaking my whole motherfucking body. Hell, I felt possessed. As if Satan and his cronies were having a goddamn fiesta in my vagina. I couldn't concentrate on the fact that it was a beautiful night and that the temperature was fucking perfect for a camp out. I couldn't even process the sound of the crickets chirping against the quiet of the darkness. All I could think about was stealing Antonio's axe and shoving it up his asshole and through his skull before roasting him over a hot fire.

Breathing out slowly, I paused, my legs feeling slightly numb and my arms aching from carrying the shit-filled bag.

Okay, Lovina.

You are a badass motherfucker.

You are the victim here.

You have been mercilessly kicked out by a tomato-raping jackass, and now, you are essentially on your own.

What do you do?

I guess I could go to the nearest bar and get completely shit-faced.

But in all honesty, the idea of sitting at a bar table, taking shot after shot of hard liquor to quench the overwhelming spiral of emotions within me makes me feel as if the ass-hat won. And I will NOT have that bullshit. No fucking way.

Let's see, I don't really have any…

Ah-hem… I don't have any friends.

There, I admit it.

No one likes me enough to let me into their house, as far as I'm concerned.

And there is no way in hell I am going to subject myself to staying within a certain proximity of my air-headed, slut of a sister.

Lowering my eyes to the ground to stare at my feet, I realized that I had one choice, and one choice only.

This specific choice I am about to make would've made my past self shit herself in disbelief. But now? After that little mental smack down with dear ol' Toni, the idea of crashing with Gilbert for a while didn't seem like such a horrific idea. First of all, I would have a place to stay, even if it was a potato-infested, kinky, Germanic porn brothel disguised as a squeaky clean basement. Second of all, it would just piss Toni off even more when he finds out that I am staying with "ze Awesome five-metered Prussia." Hell, maybe I can even give others the impression that I am having intense, pornographic episodes with the bastard every fucking night.

…Mio Dio, did I really just think that?

Fucking hell, Lovina! You're losing your touch, your decency!

Since when the crapola was engaging in kinky sex with a Germanic a good idea?

Nevertheless, I had made up my mind.

To Prussia's house, we go!

This is where I permanently say farewell to tomato territory, and greet the realm of potatoes with as much civility as I could muster (which in all honesty, isn't that much).

However, once I had reached the house, I didn't just take care of business by going up to the door, knocking, and demanding entrance. Instead, I just stood there, about six feet away from the entrance of the house, staring at it stoically like some stalker.

Was I really doing this? Was I really going to subject myself to sharing a house with an uncivilized ex-nation? Hell, scratch that. I would be sharing this house with TWO Germanics. Goddamn, I am going to contract some strange disease from breathing in this pungent potato-ridden air, and then my lungs will shrovel up, my eyes will fall out, and my throat would clog up, which would cause my heart to stop beating, and then…and then… I would die. DIE.

Okay, I wouldn't die. I'm a personification. I would just suffer for a long period of time.

Deciding that my arms were cramping up from carrying all of this shit, I shook my head as a form of reassurance, and then made my way to the entrance of the house. I just prayed that the blonde potato bastard wasn't home right now. That would be so fucking awkward.

Oh, I so wanted to turn back. To actually take the time to put effort into finding another place to stay, possibly an inn or a motel or a barn… anything. However, effort and I just didn't seem to get along. Then again, the two of us never really have been on civil terms. At all.

So, sucking in a breath, I struggled to reach out toward the door with one hand and rapped on the wood with my knuckles. I was determined to look like an unfeeling, angry bitch right now. One of those chicks who looked everything but helpless and only did things that were absolutely necessary.

However, despite this façade bull I was pulling, my insides were slamming around like a fucking hurricane. I don't even know why I'm so unnerved by the fact that I am about to stay at the Potato bastard's house. It's not even that big of a deal, really. Yet, here I am, Lovina Vargas, personification of South Italy, fretting over this so-called "relationship" of ours.

Well, that escalated quickly. A few hours ago, it was established that we were dating. And now, I'm moving in.

WE AREN'T EVEN FACEBOOK OFFICIAL, YET. HOLY SHIT!

After a few more moments, the door swung open, and to my relief (or lack of), the pale-skinned ex-nation stood at the door, his piercing eyes fixated on the short, flat-faced Italian in front of him, her arms occupied with a shit ton of random crap that she had assumed was hers.

It was rather awkward… no, scratch that.

It was FUCKING awkward.

I just stood there, and he just stood there, and…and…

FUCKING HELL, SAY SOMETHING. ANYTHING.

"…Toni kicked me out," I finally said in a frigid tone, my voice sounding like grating nails even to my own ears. But that's a good thing, si? I want to sound like a badass motherfucker. Because I AM one. I'm the queen of badassness and pain and hardcore shit while Feliciana is the queen of daisies and rainbows and corny bullcrap that will DIE in the presence of amazingness.

Oh, Dio. I think that Beilschmidt is starting to rub off on me.

"I figured," he responded, raising an eyebrow, still not moving an inch from his position at the doorway. "And you are here, why?"

As he asked the second question, I saw it. That devious smirk creep was creeping back onto his lips. His red eyes were glinting mischievously, as if the idiota had won some magnificent prize.

I opened my mouth to say something… anything… something clever, something biting, something mean, something fucking out of this world. Sadly, I had nothing. So, instead, I just looked at the ground, inwardly cursing at the fact that my arms were goddamn tired from carrying this shit. As I have said for the umpteenth time.

"I need a place to stay, and you're the only one I can think of." Taking a quick breath, I looked back up at him, making sure to keep the expression on my face hard and unfeeling. That's right, Lovi, you can do it. Think icy, think mean, think _bitch. _Yes, that's right… think _ BITCH. _"After all, we are supposedly dating, si? Why don't we add a bit of spice to the shock factor and live together?"

Gilbert immediately tutted in a mocking manner, shaking his head, that fucking smirk growing wider. "Now, now, Vargas, I understand that I am irresistible, but I can't just let you move into my humble abode."

My face reddened at that. Was he…was he REJECTING me? That…that… BASTARD.

"You…" I spat out, my eyes narrowing dangerously. "You…I…"

I cannot describe to you how fucking humiliated I feel right now. I needed to save myself in some way, maintain what little dignity I had.

If I had any.

I mean, I did just get mercilessly kicked out by the one person I thought would always look upon me with high favor. And now, I'm trying to convince a potato-humping Germanic with albinism to let me live with him for the time being.

So, I decided to snap.

Yup. SNAP.

"You know what?" I began dangerously. "I don't FUCKING have time for this right now. Today has been one hell of a ride for me, you know that? I think you do, asshole. First, you skip into my room, and without warning, kiss me while Toni is looking, I come to your house and hatch some whack-ass shit of a 'plan,' go back home only to be screamed at and kicked out by the man I am hopelessly in love with, and now I come here, only to have you refuse me entrance. Well, FUCK YOU. I am exhausted, upset, angry, emotionally-drained, in a state of shock, and my arms fucking hurt because carrying a fuck-ton of clothes is heavier than I would've expected. So, let me into your precious, cock-sucking abode. NOW."

My heart beat furiously against my chest as the words flowed out, My teeth bared into a snarl, my eyes fixed on the Prussian, who, to my anger, didn't seem the least bit bewildered.

However, he did tilt his head, the corner of his lip lifting up ever so slightly before he spoke. "Pushy, pushy little bitch. Since I am feeling rather merciful tonight, and since I sense that someone needs some alcohol to drown her sorrows, I will let you in."

With that, he stepped aside, his arms crossed. Casting one last suspicious look, I walked forward and into the house that I had just previously visited not even five hours ago. What goes around comes around, si?

I walked a bit further through the darkness until I reached the one room that seemed to be lit up. The kitchen.

"Mein bruder is out for the night," said Gilbert as he closed the kitchen door behind him. "Drowning his sorrows away through alcohol like any good German." His voice was filled with a devious pride that caused me to scowl.

"I don't give a flying fuck about what your brother is doing. I'm pissed, my arms hurt like a motherfucker, and I want. To. Sleep." I put emphasis on the last three words, even though I wasn't in the least bit tired. I just wanted an excuse to be by myself so that I could sulk in my own misery and resentment while plotting the painful disembowelment of a certain ex-conquistador and his unflawed girlfriend. But whatever. Details, details.

"It's not a crime to set your bag down," he remarked, looking highly amused, the shadows on his face making him look even more mischievous (if that was even possible).

Glowering at him, I immediately dropped the bag at my feet, not caring that the overflowing shit within it spilled out into a crumpled mess. Oh, sweet merciful RELIEF. My arms were literally belting out beautiful notes of justice and freedom.

_Can you hear these two arms sing? Singing the song of happy limbs… _

"And you're not sleeping, yet," he said simply, taking a few steps closer to me, causing me to instinctively back up, and my irritation levels peaking to new levels.

"You can't tell me what to d—"

"You have unexpectedly shown up at my house, claiming that Antonio has kicked you out. I want the story, and you are going to tell it to me over a few bottles of beer," he said, cutting me off.

…Cutting me off.

Cutting me…

Cut… FUCK HIM.

"I…you… me…" I spluttered, my fists clenching. "There's nothing to fucking say, you asswipe! Antonio got angry and he kicked me out. End of story. And there is no way in all of Dante's levels of HELL am I going to drink horse piss with the likes of YOU."

However, the bastard wasn't listening to me, for he had already grabbed two, dark amber bottles of beer from the fridge, setting them both on the counter with a fair amount of force. His piercing red eyes bore into mine as he pulled up a tall chair and propped himself upon it before reaching out to pat the vacant spot next to him.

… Was he serious right now? WAS HE FUCKING SHITTING ME?

"Are you FUCKING DEAF?" I spat, my head starting to pound.

"No, but I will be if you keep screaming like that. Stop being an un-awesome little bitch and take a seat. You know you want to," he said, using a suggestive tone as that infamous smirk danced upon his lips.

I watched in disgust as he grabbed the bottle, popped the cap, and took a large swig, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he enjoyed the horse piss.

"I'm going to bed," I said flatly before turning on my heel to make a run for it.

"Nein. You're going to enjoy a drink with me like a civilized person, and give me a story," he said.

And something about his voice both pissed me off, and glued me to the spot as well, preventing me from exiting the kitchen.

Oh, how it pissed me off. It sent me on a mental, fiery rage of doom.

Gritting me teeth, I breathed out through my nostrils.

"You have some nerve, Beilschmidt."

I really shouldn't have said that. Now, I'm just feeding his overblown ego, which is already the size of Toni's ass.

However, for some reason, I let my limbs perform my bodily actions, as my legs brought me to the chair, which was in an extremely close proximity to Gilbert. Avoiding looking at his red-eyed gaze of anti-awesomeness, I pulled the chair out a few inches before propping myself on it, resting my elbows on the table, and keeping my gaze locked forward.

It's always best to not do the talking. Unless it is to insult or demean. Especially in the presence of a Germanic. In a Germanic house. With beer in front of you.

What's next? Am I going to start eating goddamn potato salad next? Start saying "ja" instead of "si?" Smash a barrel of beer over my head and emit some weird-ass barbarian cry? Watch kinky German bondage crap while eating wurst-flavored popcorn?

…Well, I'd rather watch that than Japan's tentacle yaoi/yuri hentai shit.

After a moment of silence, I saw a white hand slowly pushing a bottle of beer toward me, stopping once it was in direct alignment with my sight. I remained rigid, staring at the fucking monstrosity, my lip curling.

Again, he was expecting me to drink this?

DOES HE NOT FUCKING UNDERSTAND THAT I DO NOT DRINK HORSE PISS?

"Pop the cap and start talking," he said, his voice immediately grating at my ears. I recoiled, fighting the urge to just throw a tantrum that would cause even Satan to hide under his bed covers of tortured souls.

"Don't tell me what to fucking do."

"Pop the cap and start talking."

"Don't tell me what to FUCKING do."

"Pop the cap and start talking."

"You know wh—"

"Pop the cap and st—"

So, I popped the cap of the bottle. I don't know why I gave into this weird-ass impulse, but before I could stop myself, I had grabbed the shit, held it at the edge of the table and snapped it against the edge, causing the bottle cap to fly off forward and over the counter to the floor.

The smell was what immediately hit my nostrils. Gesu Cristo, this crap had to be toxic. Why was I subjecting myself to this? I wasn't suicidal. Yet. I have had maybe three beers in my whole life. I preferred to drink my alcohol with style… in other words… wine, champagne, occasionally rum… If I wanted to get shit-faced, then I would tolerate whiskey and vodka.

But never beer. Beer is just so… GERMAN.

…And horrendous for one's taste buds.

However, without another thought, I squeezed my eyes shut, tilted my head back, and took a large swig from the bottle. The liquid hit my tongue, fizzing and attacking, tasting like intoxicated gasoline and urine. Goddamn, this was disgusting. It was worse than that children's cough syrup that those evil stepmothers forced down the rugrats' throats with a giant spoon. My nose wrinkled and my throat burned, but I kept drinking. I gulped and gulped until only half the bottle was left.

However, I could only take so much before I slammed the bottle back down on the counter, my breathing heavy and my head spinning as I resisted the urge to gag.

Oh, fuck… I felt extremely hot. And NOT in a sexy way. I mean, I knew that my cheeks were pink, and that my head felt rather heavy, but light at the same time. Was this stuff really taking effect already? I thought beer was supposed to be relatively light. Shit, I'm such a lightweight.

A low whistle interrupted my thoughts, causing me to lazily turn my head toward the stupid-ass shit-headed Prussian, whose eyes were glinting as he smirked in amusement. "Not bad, Vargas, not bad at all. Especially for an Italian like yourself."

"That's why you don't underestimate an Italian, dipshit," I snarled, unable to control the fact that my words were a bit jumbled. Not quite slurred… but any more of this, and I might as well have been roofied.

"Mmhmm, I'll keep that in mind when you stop swaying in your chair," he responded without a blink of an eye.

…Was I really swaying? Already?

"…I'm doing it on purpose."

"Yeah right."

"No, really."

"Lying is unawesome."

"Fuck you."

"Gladly."

"Fuck y—EWW. NOOOO."

At my freak-out, Gilbert cracked up before finishing off the rest of his bottle, and then getting out of his chair, heading over to the refrigerator to… was he seriously grabbing another one? And he wasn't the least bit affected?

Goddamn, it. My tongue was thick, I was light-headed, I felt a bit too relaxed for my comfort, and I couldn't control some of the shit that was coming out of my mouth. And I barely finished half a bottle of this. I don't remember beer being this strong in my past experiences.

OH GOD, WHAT IF HE DRUGGED IT? WHAT IF…WHAT IF HE WAS PLANNING TO… NO, HOLY SHIT… I CAN'T EVEN…

"So start talking."

His words broke me out of my chain of thought. I leaned forward on the counter, glowering at him lazily, feeling strange as the world seemed to go lopsided.

"Why should I? What do I get out of it?" I asked. Huh, even my own words sounded strange to my own ears.

"My side of the story," he responded simply, as if it were the most obvious, yet treasured thing in the whole world.

"BOOOOORRRRRIIIINNNNNNGGGG," I chimed loudly, my voice resonating through the room, my fingers now gripping the edge of the counter, my half-lidded eyes glued to Gilbert as he walked back to his spot next to me, two more bottles of beer, one in each hand.

"Next time you take a drink, try not to take inhale half the bottle," he remarked as he popped the cap and took another drink. "You Italians have shitty tolerance. Now, start talking."

"Why the fuck are you so fucking obsessed with knowing what happened?"

"Because I want to be entertained tonight. And since I'm not getting any sex out of you, this is the next best thing. Plus, I want to know if Antonio was jealous or not," he responded, a devious grin spreading on his features.

I gaped at him for a good whole minute before balling my hand into a fist and punching him right in the shoulder.

He gave a yelp, recoiling, almost knocking his drink over. Hissing, he rubbed his shoulder before glowering at me in irritation. "What the hell?"

"FUCK YOU!" I belted out, my head now spinning uncontrollably. I knew for a fact that that punch to the shoulder would leave a mark. I was infamous for my sandwich-making skills. Knuckle sandwich-making skills that is.

I don't even know why I was so angry. I should've expected a comment like that from him. However, my tongue was thick, my insides were strangely hot, my face felt overheated, and my vision was fading in and out of focus. Without another coherent thought, I grabbed my bottle again, finishing off the rest of the contents. The familiar sensation of gasoline and urine going down my throat caused me to cough and gag, but I forced it down nonetheless.

With a hiccup, I slammed the empty glass down again, in half mind to chuck it at Gilbert's bewildered face.

"F-FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU AND THIS HOUSE AND EVERYTHING AND…AND… FUCK TONI AND FUCK FELICIANA AND FUCK FACEBOOK AND FUCK CATHOLICISM AND MORALS AND SPANIARDS AND BARCELONA AND GRANDPA ROME AND BONDAGE AND TENTACLE PORN JUST…FUCK EVERYTHING! FUCK FUCK FUUUUCCCKKKK!" I belted out, slamming my fist down on the counter, unable to process the throbbing pain.

"…Tentacle porn?" Gilbert questioned, giving me a skeptical look as he casually popped open the bottle of the next beer.

Okay. OKKKKAAYYY. That's cool. Totally awesome. HA! AWESOME. FUCKING AWESOME.

I exploded again. "YOU'RE SUCH AN ASSHOLE. YOU'RE MAKING EVERYTHING WORSE BY GIVING ME ROOFIED HORSE PISS, AND YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE A GOOD CATHOLIC MAN BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU USED TO BE, BUT THAT WAS THE PAST BECAUSE PRIESTS DON'T AREN'T SUPPOSED TO WANT SEX, BUT YOU DO… AND YOU'RE SO INSENSITIVE AND…AND… HOW CAN YOU BE FRIENDS WITH ANTONIO?"

Tears were streaming down my cheeks at this point, but I couldn't give two flying shits. Was this really all from the beer? Lesson learned… I have no tolerance for beer.

"HE KICKED ME OUT. I LOVE HIM AND HE'S TOO STUPID TO UNDERSTAND THAT AND I'VE ALWAYS BEEN THERE FOR HIM…AND…AND… HE'S DATING MY PERFECT, PLUMP-ASSED, GOOGLY-EYED SISTER, AND THEY'RE PROBABLY HAVING SEX EVERY HOUR OF THE DAY WHERE I'M NOT AROUND AND IT MAKES ME SICK BECAUSE I LOVE HIM SO MUCH EVEN THOUGH I WANT TO DRIVE A STAKE UP HIS ASS AND OUT HIS EYEBALL. I JUST…"

I think my drunken state of mind is actually processing the fact that I have reached a breaking point.

I couldn't talk anymore. I was just sobbing. I don't even know if this is all because of intoxication, or because I am just so fucking done with everything.

The sobs hurt my chest, intertwining painfully with my hiccups as my shoulders shook and my breathing came out in uneven intervals, my eyes stinging as the tears continually spilled down my cheeks, sometimes dripping onto the countertop.

"He broke my heart. I never thought that he could break my heart," I admitted weakly, not caring that I was practically pouring my heart out to Gilbert fucking Beilschmidt. I didn't dare look in his direction as I continued to cry and cry and cry.

Lovina Vargas isn't supposed to cry, but as of late, that rule has been proven void.

I've cried over this man so many times in the past month.

"...I think that will do, Vargas. You don't have to talk anymore." Gilbert's voice immediately snapped me out of my thinking spiel as I stared at him through my blurred vision, sniffing uncontrollably.

"Fuck your permission," I snapped, a small amount of bite making its way through my otherwise half-hearted comment.

He decided to ignore my attempt at argument by turning away from me, taking another swig from his beer, a frown on his face as he looked at nothing in particular. "I've had my heart broken before, you know."

I was about to open my mouth to make some demeaning comment at that, but the words just couldn't come. I felt drained of all bitterness at this point.

"Most people actually are aware of this; I'll be surprised if you aren't. You know that that Hungarian bitch, to this day, is using my heart as a meat cleaver, ja?" he said flatly.

I gave a simple nod of my head. I wasn't stupid. I knew that Beilschmidt has had the eyes for Elizaveta since the fucking prehistoric times…or whenever the hell they met. I'm also aware of her continuous rejection of him, even though she tends to freak out when he's not around. Talk about serious bitch-lash.

"What you're feeling now isn't anything new. It's unawesome, yes, but it's been felt by many. It makes it even worse when it's repeated. Take it from me," he said, his eyes growing distant as his gaze averted to the surface of the counter. I stared at Gilbert, my mind completely blank as thoughts attempted to crown the currently intoxicated, drained space that was my brain.

And that's when I did the unthinkable.

Si, the unthinkable.

The forbidden. The tabooed. The reckless. The fucking-stupid-what-the-hell-are-you-doing-you're-going-to-get-German-cooties.

I lunged forward, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, taking him completely off-guard, and pressing my lips to his.

…

…..

…

…Yeah, I got no explanation for this.

I'm drunk. Yup, that's totally it. I'm intoxicated, and there's no point in trying to control myself anymore, because I frankly do not give a fuck. I'm upset, he's angsty, and I don't want to hear anymore depressing shit coming out of his mouth. So what better way to keep those words in the mind and away from the lips?

…I have a point for this, I swear.

His lips were moist, and slightly addictive, especially with that tinge of alcohol laced on them. Even if it was beer. But whatever, I can look past that.

At first, Gilbert stiffened, his whole body going rigid, and for a split second, I swore that he was going to push me off. However, as soon as the thought crossed my brain, his shoulders relaxed and he kissed back. My brain was doing the strange, drunken loopdy-loops as my lips moved against his in a rhythm that I would never be able to achieve with this much fluidity while sober. I pressed myself further into him, my breathing heavy against my eardrums as it flowed unevenly with my heartbeat. However, before I could completely fall off my chair and lose my balance, the Prussian had grabbed me by the hips to stabilize my position before literally pressing my torso against his. My arms snaked around his neck as I straddled his waist, not minding the odd, cramped position due to the size of the chair.

Oh, God… his tongue… it was like lava on steroids. …I don't know if that's even the right words to describe it. Goddamn, I really am drunk. My sober self, at this very moment, would be clocking me in the face before beating me over the head with a fucking crowbar.

My breathing grew rapid as I felt his fingers trail from my hips to caress the bare skin of my thighs, causing me to shudder as I moved my hips slightly so that I was literally jammed against him… and… oh…oh…

Oh…OH…OH, MOTHER FUNCTION.

I felt it… his manhood… or whatever I should call it, against my ass. And it was hard. HARD. ROCK SOLID.

And you know what, ladies and gentleman?

Lovina Vargas wanted the D.

Lovina Vargas wanted the German, five metered D.

I felt his teeth snatch at my lower lip, causing me to squeak slightly as my fingernails raked through his hair and down his neck before trailing down his front against his torso. Goddamn, I've never been this horny in my life, and that was saying something.

This HAS to be the alcohol talking right here. Alcohol mixed with desperation and patheticness to a whole new level.

What am I even doing with my life?

Apparently this.

How depressing.

Before I could pull the hard-core, pornographic Italian on him, he suddenly broke the kiss, brining his lips tenderly to my ear. And he whispered one sentence to me.

"Go to bed, Lovina."

Okay, that's not what I was expecting, but if he really wanted me to go to his basement to finish this…

Then, without warning, he literally picked me up and set me down in front of him, my whole body feeling oddly cold and empty. I stared at him with confused eyes, taking in his disheveled appearance and amused, yet bitter expression.

"You and I both know that if we actually went through with this, we would douse ourselves with fire later. Which would not be awesome. Plus, you're drunk. Tomorrow, if you remember this, you'll probably wake up and attempt to castrate me for this. Just…just go t bed. The guest room's free; there are extra blankets and everything in the closet. It's the first room on the right once you reach the top of the stairs."

I just continued to stare at him, my mind buzzing as I attempted to recollect all that had just happened. However, all I could do was just stare, sway, and try not to fall on my ass.

"…The fuck…" I mumbled, my words eerily soft and unnaturally thick against my lips.

"Go to bed, Lovina," he repeated, still looking at me, smiling softly… almost sadly. "I'll see you in the morning if you're still here."

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Lovina South Vargas is in a relationship with Gilbert Beilschmidt 

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…Crappiness really does come in all forms.


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